THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF. CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


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THE    DRY    DOCK   OF 
A  THOUSAND  WRECKS 


THE   WATER   ST.   BOOKS 

The  Dry  Dock  of  a  Thousand 
Wrecks 

By  PHILIP  I.  ROBERTS 
With  Introduction  by  Dr.  J.  H.  Jowett 

i2mo,  cloth,  net  ^i.oo 
A  Sequel  to  "Down  in  Water  Street." 

Down  in  Water  Street 

By  S.  H.  HADLEY 
Introduction  by  Rev.  F.  B.  Meyer 

Illustrated,  cloth,  net  $i.oo 
"  The  Power  of  faith  to  awaken  men's 
consciences,  reinforce  their  wills,  and  turn 
them  from  their  lives  of  degradation  to 
lives  of  self-control,  and  virtue  is  here 
illustrated  by  many  specific  cases." 

— Outlook. 

S.  H.  Hadley  of  Water  Street 

A  Miracle  of  Grace 
By  J.  WILBUR  CHAPMAN,  D.D. 

Illustrated,  i2mo,  cloth,  1.25 
"  The  power  of   faith    to   awaken   and 
change    men,    strengthen   their    wills    and 
purify  their    lives,    is  fully  exemplified  in 
these  simple  and  moving  narratives," 

— Outlook. 


THE   NEW   McAULEY  WATER   STREET   MISSION, 
Erected   1912 


The  McAuley  Water  Street  Mission 

The  Dry  Dock  of 
A  Thousand  Wrecks 


By 
PHILIP  I.  ROBERTS 

•I 

With  an  Introduction  ^y 
JOHN  HENRY  JOWETT,  D.  D, 


New  York        Chicago        Toronto 

Fleming     H.     Revell     Company 

London       and       Edinburgh 


'X.\ 


Copyright,  1912,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  125  North  Wabash  Ave. 
Toronto:  25  Richmond  Street,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:      100    Princes    Street 


To 

The  Constant  Helpmat?  of  the 
**  Superintendent" 


INTRODUCTION 


A  LITTLE  while  ago  I  was  speaking 
to  a  well-known  New  York  doctor, 
a  man  who  has  had  long  and  varied 
experience  with  the  diseases  that  afflict 
both  body  and  mind.  I  asked  him  how 
many  cases  he  had  known  of  the  slaves 
of  drink  having  been  brought  by  medical 
treatment  into  recovered  physical  health 
and  freedom.  How  many  had  he  been 
able  to  '*  doctor "  into  liberty  and  self- 
control?  He  immediately  replied,  "  Not 
one."  He  further  assured  me  that  he 
believed  his  experience  would  be  corrobo- 
rated by  the  general  testimony  of  the  faculty 
of  medicine.  Doctors  might  afford  a  seem- 
ing and  temporary  escape,  but  the  real 
bondage  was  not  broken.  At  the  end  of 
the  apparent  but  brief  deliverance  it  was 
found  that  the  chains  remained.  Medicine 
9 


ivi309160 


lo  Introduction 

might  address  itself  to  effects,  but  the 
cause  was  as  proud  and  dominant  as  ever. 
The  doctor  had  no  cure  for  the  drunkard. 
Drunkenness  was  primarily  a  moral  malady 
and  demanded  the  treatment  of  the  will. 

Soon  after  this  conversation  I  read  the 
proofs  of  this  book.  And  here  I  found 
the  "  sufficiency  "  that  filled  up  the  doctor's 
want.  Here  is  the  record  of  how  men  and 
women  sunk  in  animalism,  broken  in 
will  and  despairing  in  heart,  were  lifted 
out  of  impotence  and  debasement  into 
moral  strength  and  beauty.  These  "  thou- 
sand wrecks  "  have  not  only  been  taken 
into  "dry  dock"  and  repaired;  they  are 
out  again  on  the  high  seas,  invincible  to 
the  tempest,  and  engaged  in  scouring  those 
seas  for  human  ships  that  have  been  dis- 
mantled in  moral  disaster,  and  towing  them 
into  the  harbour  of  divine  love  and  grace. 
They  have  been  saved  to  save.  Their 
cleansed  hearts  are  sacrificial  in  their 
passion;  their  energized  wills  are  conse- 
crated to  the  service  of  the  Kingdom  of 
our  God.     Here  is  the  miracle  of  to-day 


Introduction  1 1 

and  every  day;  lives  that  were  smashed 
in  deviltry  are  recreated  into  "  the  beauty 
of  holiness  ";  souls  that  mourned  in  wretch- 
edness have  been  restored  into  the  joy 
of  God's  salvation.  At  Water  Street  there 
is  abundant  witness  of  "  grace  abounding,'* 
and  "  our  Lord  is  marching  on." 

Now  I  think  it  is  altogether  admirable, 
in  a  day  when  so  many  are  in  the  gloom 
of  doubt,  and  when  so  many  are  wasting 
their  theology  and  w^hen  so  many  are  seek- 
ing a  rock  of  assurance,  that  strong  books 
of  practical  testimony  should  be  offered 
to  the  minds  and  souls  of  men.  And  so 
I  welcome  the  present  powerful  book  by 
Mr.  Roberts. 

It  is  written  In  strong,  vivid,  picturesque 
English.  There  is  nothing  wasted  in  need- 
less rhetoric.  He  has  placed  before  us 
the  men  we  want  to  see,  and  we  see  them! 
Christ  has  been  at  woric  and  we  behold 
the  blessed  products  of  His  love  and  grace. 
Here  is  what  Christ  can  do!  Here  is  what 
Christ  is  doing!  Amid  all  our  uncertain- 
ties, and  amid  all  our  controversies,  her^ 


1 2  Introduction 

is  something  to  he  seen!  God's  grace  is 
making  men  gracious,  God's  love  is  making 
men  lovely.  Let  the  Church  take  heart 
from  the  witness,  for  here  we  have  **  the 
work  of  faith,  and  the  labour  of  love,  and 
the  patience  of  hope." 

I  heartily  commend  the  little  book — and 
I  heartily  commend  "  the  home  of  grace  " 
in  which  these  living  witnesses  found  their 
Lord.  May  the  Water  Street  Mission 
receive  the  abundant  benefactions  of  all 
who  care  for  the  progress  of  the  Kingdom, 
and  may  the  noble  Superintendent  and 
all  his  fellow-workers  be  kept  strong  and 
joyful  in  "  the  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost." 

J.  H.  JOWETT 

I^ifth  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church, 
New  York. 


Contents 


I. 

The  Greatest  of  These 

15 

II. 

God's  Good  Man  .        .        .        . 

32 

III. 

De  Profundis        .        .        .        . 

43 

IV. 

The  Breaking  of  the  Bread 

54 

V. 

Into  a  Far  Country 

68 

VI. 

Saved  to  Serve     .         .        .         . 

86 

VII. 

Sons  of  Ishmael    .         .        •         . 

96 

VIII. 

The  Portion  of  Manasseh    . 

.     109 

IX. 

"  Out  of  Nazareth  "     . 

.     119 

X. 

The  Blossoming  Desert 

136 

XL 

By  a  Great  Deliverance 

.     150 

XII. 

The  Lifted  Bondage    . 

.     164 

XIII. 

The  Second  Spring 

.     171 

XIV. 

Saved  to  the  Uttermost 

.     185 

XV. 

Pilgrims  of  the  Night 

.     194 

ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  New  McAuley  Water  Street  Mission 

Frontispiece 

OPPOSITE  PAGE 

Interior  of  New  Mission  Hall i6 

John  H.  Wyburn 32 

Charles  Bayard  Stewart 46 

B.  F.  Alexander 60 

John  Tyler 84 

Carlton  Park 92 

Alexander  Russell no 

Christopher  J.  Balf 126 

Richard  H.  Roberts 142 

Edwin  C.  Mercer 154 

Exterior  View  of  the  Old  Building 190 


THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE 

"  And  now  abideth  faith,  hope,  love,  these   three ;  but   the 
greatest  of  these  is  love." — /  Cor.  xiii,  13. 

FOR  nearly  forty  years  the  Old  Jerry 
McAuley  Mission,  316  Water  Street, 
New  York  City,  has  been  the  scene  of 
an  unremitting  spiritual  activity,  which  from 
the  hour  of  its  inception  has  been  attended 
by  the  smile  and  benediction  of  Almighty 
God.  Under  its  world-famous  founder,  Jerry 
McAuley,  the  consecrated  Samuel  Hopkins 
Hadley,  and  under  its  present  administration, 
a  crusade  of  rescue  and  reclamation  has  been 
prosecuted  with  unflagging  heroism ;  and 
the  end  is  not  yet.  There  is  no  intention 
here  of  attempting  a  resume  of  "  Water 
Street"  history.  That  were  a  superfluous 
task.  Its  fame  and  story  have  gone  forth  in 
the  earth.  Men  are  almost  everywhere  to  be 
met  with,  telling  of  how  in  the  McAuley 
15 


l6  The  Greatest  of  These 

Mission  they  found  deHverance  from  the 
power  of  the  Drink-Fiend  and  pardon  for 
sias  of  deepest  dye.  Moreover,  the  ground 
is  fully  and  fascinatingly  covered  by  the  late 
S.  H.  Hadley  in  his  book,  **  Down  in  Water 
Street." 

The  erection  and  opening  of  the  new  mis- 
sion building  is  an  epoch-marking  event, 
and  furnishes  a  fitting  occasion  for  some  re- 
statement of  the  principles  underlying  and 
governing  this  important  work,  a  recapitula- 
tion of  certain  traditions  to  which  its  promo- 
ters cling  and  of  the  results  they  are  striving 
ardently  to  secure,  together  with  some  rec- 
ognition of  one  or  two  of  the  men  who 
have  made  the  work  possible.  The  former 
briefly  put,  are  as  follows :  The  proclama- 
tion of  salvation  through  Jesus  Christ,  an 
unfaltering  belief  in  the  value  of  personal 
testimony  and  a  ministry  of  compassion,  and 
the  ingathering  of  storm-tossed  souls  into 
the  kingdom  of  God.  Here  is  a  place  where 
the  needy  are  more  welcome  than  the  af- 
fluent, the  drunkard  than  the  abstainer,  the 
thief  than  the  honest  man,  the  sinner  than  the 


The  Greatest  of  These  1 7 

saint.  Loving  hearts  and  willing  hands  are 
freely  at  the  disposal  of  the  weary  and  the 
lost.  The  doors  of  the  Mission  are  closed  to 
none.  Men,  young  and  old,  husky  and  frail, 
educated  and  ignorant,  head  continually  for 
Water  Street,  seeking  help  in  difficulty, 
guidance  in  perplexity,  comfort  in  sorrow. 
And  no  man  is  ever  repulsed.  Whether 
Christian  or  Jew,  Protestant  or  Catholic,  cit- 
izen or  alien — it  matters  not  at  all.  For  the 
workers  have  long  ago  realized  that  as  they 
do  unto  the  least  they  do  unto  our  Lord. 
Theirs  is  the  joy  of  service,  impelling  to  the 
coveted  opportunity  of  seeking  the  lost,  en- 
heartening  those  in  whose  souls  hope  is  well- 
nigh  extinguished,  lifting  the  bruised  and 
fallen,  loving  the  unlovely  and  the  loveless, 
delivering  in  Christ's  name  them  that  are 
bound. 

The  work  is  appallingly  difficult.  The 
poor  fellows  who  find  their  way  to  Water 
Street  are,  in  the  main,  men  who  have  for- 
feited their  rights  to  confidence,  coopera- 
tion and  fellowship.  Steeped  in  drink  and 
depravity,   their  will-power  sacrificed   to   a 


l8  The  Greatest  of  These 

vicious  lust  for  liquor,  with  all  that  was  ever 
good  in  them  subordinated  to  the  lowest  in- 
stincts of  human  nature,  these  men  are  not 
readily  amenable  to  influences  of  an  uplifting 
character.  From  a  purely  economic  view- 
point they  would  seem  to  be  just  so  many 
heaps  of  human  rubbish,  fit  only  to  be  cast 
into  the  sea  and  banished  from  remembrance. 
Water  Street,  however,  regards  them  differ- 
ently. They  constitute  just  so  much  misap- 
propriated material — material  throbbing  with 
glorious  possibilities,  and  capable  of  the  as- 
similation of  Christ's  own  spirit  and  life.  It 
is  not  God's  will  that  any  of  these  weak  ones 
should  perish.  And  in  the  strength  of  the 
Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  the  end  sought  is  to 
effect  their  salvation.  And  the  key-note  of 
this  service  is  Love. 

There  is  really  no  other  way.  The  longer 
I  am  permitted  to  live,  the  more  completely 
am  I  persuaded  that  the  most  effective 
weapon  against  sin  and  depravity  is  Love. 
Especially  in  such  heart-breaking  experiences 
as  come  daily  to  those  who  labour  in  Water 
Street  is  love  and  compassion  indispensable. 


The  Greatest  of  These  19 

These  people  are  compelled  to  bear  the 
drunkard's  grief,  to  carry  his  sorrow,  and  in 
all  things  be  a  living  link  between  the  sinner 
and  his  Saviour.  They  realize  the  value  in 
the  saving  grace  of  compassion,  and  appre- 
ciate the  supreme  need  of  its  daily  renewal. 
When  men  lose  compassion,  they  lose  power. 
Immeasurably  more  than  most  people  seem 
to  be  aware,  sympathy  is  the  fount  of  dis- 
cernment. "Water  Street"  is  abundant 
proof  of  that.  To  adopt  a  critical,  inquisi- 
torial attitude  towards  the  men  who  drift 
into  the  Mission  is  to  walk  blindfolded ;  and 
in  order  to  accomplish  anything  worth 
while,  it  is  necessary  to  keep  very  near  to 
the  springs  of  tenderness. 

Experience  has  shown  that  it  is  impossible 
to  conduct  and  carry  on  a  work  like  that  of 
the  McAuley  Mission  without  dispensing 
some  measure  of  temporal  relief  to  the  never- 
ending  stream  of  needy  humanity  surging 
continually  at  its  doors.  Objection  has  been 
raised  in  certain  quarters  against  this  prac- 
tice, but  it  is  scarcely  worth  while  to  under- 
take its  defense.     It  is  amply  vindicated — 


20  The  Greatest  of  These 

justified  by  results.  But  to  any  friend  of 
rescue  work  who  may  incline  to  any  such 
criticism,  one  question  may,  at  least,  be 
permitted  to  be  put :  Can  any  man  estimate 
the  value  of  one  human  soul  ?  He  cannot. 
When  he  can,  and  only  when  he  can,  is  he 
qualified  to  determine  whether  a  few  cheap 
meals  or  an  occasional  bed  in  a  ten-cent 
lodging-house  is  too  great  a  price  to  pay  for 
bringing  a  drunkard  inside  a  zone  of  uplift- 
ing influences,  and  which  results,  as  likely  as 
not,  in  his  being  found  at  the  foot  of  the 
Cross.  Many  a  man  coming  to  Water  Street 
with  no  worthier  motive  than  a  prospective 
bed-ticket  has  received  something  of  an 
infinitely  higher  value — the  pardon  of  his  sins 
through  Jesus  Christ.  The  system  of  rea- 
sonable temporal  relief  works — works  ad- 
mirably and  effectively.  And,  surely,  in 
all  sweet  reasonableness,  that  is  a  reason  suf- 
ficiently valid  to  warrant  its  continuance. 

Yet  with  it  all  there  is  no  suggestion  that 
the  feeding  a  man's  body  will  save  his  souL 
This  is  but  a  means  to  an  end.  It  cannot  be 
too  clearly  stated  that  the  McAuley  Mission 


The  Greatest  of  These  21 

recognizes  and  teaches  that  it  is  only  through 
a  behef  in  Jesus  Christ  and  His  atoning  sac- 
rifice that  souls  can  be  restored  to  favour 
with  God.  There  is  no  other  way  to  salva- 
tion but  by  the  way  of  the  Cross.  That  is 
Christ's  way,  and  it  is  Water  Street's.  On 
this  fact,  its  past  has  been  lived,  its  present 
rests,  its  future  will  be  reared.  The  creed 
which  dispenses  with  Christ  as  an  intermedi- 
ary will  never  wear  the  laurels  of  achieve- 
ment at  Water  Street.  Moreover,  it  is  not 
likely  to  receive  the  saving  grace  of  adoption 
at  the  hands  of  its  workers.  To  tell  a  phys- 
ical, moral  and  spiritual  bankrupt  that,  if  **  he 
will  make  his  soul  worth  saving,  it  will  be 
saved,''  is  to  mock  him  with  insensate  folly. 
He  cannot,  of  himself,  make  his  soul  worth 
anything.  Like  the  cripple  in  the  Gospels, 
**  he  can  in  no  wise  straighten  himself."  His 
life  is  just  a  terrible,  pathetic  illustration  of 
human  nature  at  its  worst.  As  to  what  an 
attitude  of  moral  grandeur  he  may  attain,  he 
has  no  certain  knowledge.  How  utterly  de- 
praved he  can  become,  to  what  depths  of  evil 
he  is  capable  of  descending,  how  broken  a 


22  The  Greatest  of  These 

prop  on  which  to  lean  is  the  best  that  is  in 
him — all  this  he  knows,  to  his  sorrow  and  ut- 
ter shame.     Of  himself  he  can  do  nothing. 

And  when  he  comes  in  rags  and  ruin  to 
Water  Street,  the  only  way  of  salvation  is 
offered  to  him.  He  is  told  that  a  power  infi- 
nitely superior  to,  and  clean  outside  of  him- 
self, is  necessary  to  his  redemption  and  par- 
don, and  that  such  a  power  can  be  his  for  the 
asking — the  power  of  the  slain  and  risen  Son 
of  God.  On  this  simple  article  of  faith  the 
work  of  Water  Street  practically  rests.  The 
appeal  is  to  the  heart ;  and  it  is  the  heart, 
and  not  the  head,  that  leads  the  way  into  the 
kingdom  after  all.  Wise  men  do  greatly  err 
The  intellectually  rich  find  it  hard  to  tread 
the  pathway  of  peace — the  wayfaring  man 
though  relatively  a  fool  finds  safer  footing. 
Let  men  relegate  Bethlehem  to  the  theolog- 
ical junk-shop,  and  Calvary  to  the  intellectual 
rummage-sale  as  they  will,  yet  men  in  mortal 
soul  hunger — men  such  as  come  to  Water 
Street — will  gather  about  them  as  of  old. 
The  old  Gospel  has  not  lost  its  power  in  the 
McAuley  Mission.     Never  in    its  wonderful 


The  Greatest  of  These  23 

history  has  it  witnessed  a  greater  season  of 
spiritual  blessing  than  that  which  crowns  its 
labours  to-day.  The  work  is  a  perpetual  re- 
vival— a  magnificent  apostrophe  to  the  effi- 
cacy of  a  Gospel  that,  if  old,  is  ever  new,  and 
as  fresh  as  the  dews  of  the  morning. 

The  value  of  the  work  accomplished  in 
the  McAuley  Mission  cannot  be  estimated 
in  dollars  and  cents.  Mere  statistics,  pre- 
pare them  ever  so  interestingly,  could  never 
convey  an  adequate  notion  of  the  benefi- 
cent, helpful,  purifying  influence,  emana- 
ting continually  from  this  wonderful  cen- 
tre of  spiritual  power.  Failures  there  are 
aplenty — as,  indeed,  in  the  very  nature  of 
things,  there  are  bound  to  be.  Poor,  con- 
scienceless outcasts,  bent  on  nothing  other 
than  securing  what  is  covered  by  the  term 
"loaves  and  fishes,"  are  always  to  be  found 
about  the  Mission.  But  what  of  that?  No 
fair-minded  student  of  sociological  conditions 
in  the  underworld  of  great  cities  would  ex- 
pect to  find  an  unsullied  code  of  honour 
operative  among  men,  whose  sense  of  a 
square    deal    was,   possibly,   the   very   first 


24  The  Greatest  of  These 

thing  to  be  forfeited,  when  their  slide  down- 
hill commenced.  A  square  meal,  and  its  as- 
similation, is  a  matter  of  very  much  more 
importance.  And  if  these  poor  fellows  slip 
into  the  Hall  on  Supper  Nights,  to  eat  and 
drink  unworthily,  what  odds?  As  already 
stated,  many  who  come  merely  to  eat  remain 
to  pray.  And  even  those  who  *'  go  forward  " 
for  prayers  without  any  sense  of  contrition 
are  not  without  a  sense  of  shame.  It  seems 
fitting  to  quote  here  some  lines  from  a  back 
number  of  the  American  Magazine^  which 
describes  some  such  case.  The  consent  of 
the  owners  of  the  copyright  has  been  given 
to  reproduce  them  here : 

"  We  huddled  in  the  Mission,  for  it  was  cold  out- 
side, 

An'  listened  to  the  preacher  tell  of  the  Crucified ; 

Without,  a  sleety  drizzle  cut  deep  each  ragged  form, 

And  so  we  stood  the  talkin'  for  shelter  from  the  storm. 

They  sang  of  God  an'  angels,  an'  heav'n's  eternal  joy, 

An'  things  I  stopped  believin',  when  I  was  yet  a  boy; 

They  spoke  of  good  an'  evil  an'  offered  savin'  grace — 

An'  some  showed  love  for  mankind  a-shinin'  in  the 
face. 

But  some  their  graft  was  workin',  the  same  as  me  an' 
you. 

But  most  was  urgin'  on  us  what  they  believed  was 
true, 


The  Greatest  of  These  25 

We  sang  an'  dozed  an'  listened,  but  only  feared — us 

men — 
The  hour  when,  service  over,  we'd  have  to  mooch 

again 
An'  walk  the  icy  pavements,  an'  breast  the  snow-storm 

gray 
Till  the  saloons  were  opened,  an'  there  was  hints  of 

day; 
So,  when  they  called  out,  *  Sinner,  won't  you  come?' 

I  came. 
But   in   my  face  was   pallor,  and  in  my  heart  was 

shame — 
An'  so  fergive  me,  Jesus,  for  mockin'  of  Thy  Name; 
For   I  was  cold  and  hungry — they  gave  me  grub  an' 

bed 
After  I'd  kneeled  there  with  them,  ail'  many  prayers 

were  said. 
An'  so  fergive  me,  Jesus,  I  didn't  mean  no  harm 
An'  outside  it  was  zero,  an'  inside  it  was  warm — 
Yes  !     1  was  cold  and  hungry,  an'  oh.  Thou  Crucified, 
Thou  Friend  of  all  the  lowly,  fergive  the  lie  I  lied." 


So  much  for  the  aims  and  methods  of  this 
wonderful  work.  And  now  a  word  or  two 
concerning  the  men  who  have  lent  it  their 
ardent  support. 

Any  book  purporting  to  deal  with  the 
work  and  ministry  of  Water  Street  which 
did  not  include  some  sort  of  tribute  to  the 
memory  of  John  S.  Huyler  would  be  con- 
spicuously lacking  in  the  elements  of  com- 
mon gratitude,     Mr.  Huyler  was  a  true  friend 


26  The  Greatest  of  These 

and  benefactor  of  the  McAuley  Mission,  and 
his  death  marked  the  passing  of  a  man  who 
was  at  once  a  princely  philanthropist,  a  con- 
sistent Christian,  and  a  faithful  friend.  Like 
Abou  Ben  Adhem,  his  name  must  ever  stand 
enrolled  among  those  who  loved — conspicu- 
ously loved— both  God  and  man.  But  unlike 
Leigh  Hunt's  Oriental,  with  John  Huyler 
first  things  came  first.  It  was  not  that  love 
for  his  Lord  grew  out  of  love  for  his  fellows, 
but  rather  that  love  for  his  fellows  grew  out 
of  love  for  his  Lord. 

Within  the  traditions  of  Water  Street,  and 
within  the  friendships  and  affections  centred 
there,  the  personal  work  and  the  personal 
lovableness  of  this  gentle,  generous,  sterling 
man  cannot  perish,  nor  the  memory  of  it  be 
diminished  or  effaced.  Apart  altogether 
from  the  material  aid  he  rendered,  the  value 
of  what  he  did  as  a  personal  worker  among 
the  poor,  downtrodden,  drink-mauled  out- 
casts of  New  York's  underworld  absolutely 
precludes  its  being  dismissed  into  the  forget- 
fulness  he  would  himself  have  modestly  pre- 
ferred.    For  it  had  in  it  an  enduring  quality 


The  Greatest  of  These  27 

which  renders  it  impossible  that  it  should  not 
be  remembered,  both  for  the  work's  sake 
and  the  workman's,  and  be  securely  en- 
shrined in  the  hearts  of  those  he  loved  and 
helped  to  save. 

Down  in  Water  Street,  where  he  was 
loved,  and  where  he  is  missed,  he  has  pos- 
sibly been  succeeded,  but  not  duplicated,  for 
his  personality  could  not  be  bequeathed  with 
his  duties.  His  influence  rests  as  a  bene- 
diction on  his  successors  ;  yet  they  can  but 
work  out  what  is  in  them,  as  he  did  what 
was  in  him.  His  ever-ripening  character 
was  a  growth — a  logical,  progressive,  happy 
growth — right  to  the  end.  The  end  came, 
but  the  man  was  ready — and  the  readiness  is 
all.  John  Huyler  rests  from  his  labours,  and 
his  works  follow  him.  He  was  a  good  man 
and  a  just ;  and  now  he  has  attained  to  this 
also — to  be  at  rest. 

John  Huyler's  place  as  president  has  been 
filled  by  Ferdinand  T.  Hopkins,  and  what  this 
man's  interest  really  counts  for  in  the  activities 
of  Water  Street  is,  I  suppose,  best  known  to 
the   present  superintendent,  John   Wyburn. 


28  The  Greatest  of  These 

Were  it  necessary  or  in  good  taste  to  do  so, 
he  could  a  tale  unfold  of  the  president's  gener- 
osity. For  some  time  past  Mr.  Hopkins  has 
been  in  but  indifferent  health  ;  and  the  bur- 
den of  his  affliction  has,  at  times,  been  heavy. 
Yet  through  it  all  his  interest  in  everything 
pertaining  to  the  welfare  of  the  McAuley 
Mission  has  been  out  of  all  proportion  to 
what  the  precarious  state  of  his  health  war- 
ranted. He  has  borne  a  very  large  propor- 
tion of  the  cost  of  the  new  premises,  and 
during  the  rebuilding  he  was  in  an  almost 
feverish  state  of  anxiety  lest  the  uncertainty 
of  life  should  prevent  his  seeing  it  brought 
to  completion.  Mr.  Hopkins  has  the  con- 
tinuing prayers  of  many  who  fervently  desire 
that  his  valuable  life  shall  yet  be  spared  for 
many  years  to  the  city  of  great  and  clamant 
need.  New  York  can  ill  afford  to  lose  men 
like  the  president  of  the  Water  Street  Mis- 
sion. 

Second  only  to  the  interest  evinced  by  Mr. 
Hopkins  in  the  erection  of  the  new  Mission 
premises  has  been  that  displayed  by  R.  Ful- 
ton   Cutting,   the   treasurer.      Mr.    Cutting 


The  Greatest  of  These  29 

has  been  intimately  associated  with  the  work 
in  Water  Street  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
century.  He  was  chairman  of  the  first  serv- 
ice held  under  S.  H.  Hadley's  superintend- 
ency  on  May  30,  1886,  and  for  years  past  has 
always  presided  at  the  afternoon  meeting  of 
the  Mission  anniversary.  Mr.  Cutting  re- 
quires no  eulogy.  He  is  one  of  the  great 
civic  assets  of  Manhattan — a  brave,  fearless 
citizen  who  stands  for  everything  good  and 
righteous  in  the  life  of  the  community.  Not 
the  least  of  his  interests  are  those  he  has 
vested  in  the  uplift  of  poor,  lost  drunkards. 
Happy  the  Mission  (or  any  other  institution) 
officered  by  such  men  as  Ferd.  T.  Hopkins 
and  R.  Fulton  Cutting. 

The  new  Mission  building  recently  com- 
pleted was  a  crying  necessity.  The  old 
premises  built  many  years  ago  of  mostly  sec- 
ond-hand material  was  declared  unsafe.  Un- 
sanitary it  certainly  was  and,  in  addition,  the 
expanding  activities  of  the  work  demanded 
increased  facilities.  The  trustees  therefore 
decided  to  spend  something  like  forty-five 
thousand  dollars  in  erecting  a  more  commo- 


30  The  Greatest  of  These 

dious  structure  to  meet  the  increased  de- 
mands and  requhements  of  the  work.  The 
new  building  is  erected  on  the  old  site  and  on 
a  vacant  lot  adjoining.  Prominent  among  the 
increased  facilities  which  the  new  premises 
have  afforded  is  one  which  has  enabled  Mr. 
Wyburn  to  remedy  a  state  of  affairs  that 
was  a  distinct  set-back  to  the  permanent 
usefulness  of  the  work.  When  a  convert 
starts  his  new  life  he  is  usually  destitute. 
Provision  has,  of  course,  to  be  made  for 
him,  and  in  the  days  of  the  old  building 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  the  lodging- 
house.  The  poor  fellow  was  mighty  glad 
to  get  that,  but  when  everything  has  been 
said,  a  Bowery  lodging-house  is  not  the 
most  congenial  environment  for  the  fostering 
of  the  Christian  graces.  In  the  new  build- 
ing, however,  provision  is  made  for  a  num- 
ber of  men  to  be  housed,  who  thus  have  the 
benefit  of  a  temporary  home  where  every- 
thing is  conducive  to  their  becoming  estab- 
lished in  the  faith.  This  is  but  one  of  many 
benefits  which  the  new  and  commodious 
premises  have  conferred  on  the  work  in  gen- 


The  Greatest  of  These  31 

eral.  In  every  sense,  the  Mission  machinery- 
is  more  effective  and  productive  of  results — 
results  that  gladden  the  hearts  of  the  de- 
voted band  of  men  and  women  who  labour 
in  Water  Street  for  the  glory  of  God. 


II 

GOD'S  GOOD  MAN 

«  And  the  King  said,  He  is  a  good  man,  and  cometh  with 
good  tidings." — /  Sa7n.  xviii.  zy. 

IN  the  days  of  Jerry  McAuley,  God  man- 
ifested Himself  down  in  Water  Street  in 
a  way  that  set  New  York  astir  and  sent 
men  and  women  in  hundreds  to  see  and 
learn  what  the  whole  strange  business  meant. 
Under  Samuel  Ho  Hadley  even  the  former 
glory  was  eclipsed.  Of  this  wonderful  man 
it  has  been  said  that  he  was  the  finest  exam- 
ple of  human  love  that  the  city  of  New  York 
ever  saw.  Dr.  J.  Wilbur  Chapman,  in  the 
tender  tribute  he  delivered  at  the  funeral  of 
Mr.  Hadley,  said :  "  If  greatness  is  to  be  meas- 
ured by  a  passion  for  souls,  by  a  spirit  of 
love,  and  by  a  Christlikeness  in  all  that  he 
said,  or  did  or  thought,  then,  I  say,  I  believe 
Samuel  Hadley  was  easily  one  of  the  great- 
est men  in  the  city  of  New  York,  if  not  in 
the  whole  of  the  United  States."  Here  in 
32 


JOHN  H.  WYBUKN. 


God's  Good  Man  33 

Water  Street  this  undaunted  soldier  of  the 
Cross  fought  valiantly,  until  God's  summons 
called  him  home. 

Possibly  no  one  was  in  a  better  position  to 
appreciate  the  greatness  and  at  the  same  time 
the  simplicity  of  Hadley's  Christian  life  than 
Superintendent  Wyburn.  It  was  he  who 
pointed  him  to  Jesus  twenty-four  years  ago 
and  for  many  years  he  had  the  joy  of  sharing 
Hadley's  labours  in  Water  Street  until  called 
to  the  superintendency  of  the  Bowery  Mission 
from  which  he  resigned  in  1899  to  go  out 
West.  After  repeated  and  urgent  requests 
from  Mr.  Hadley  he  returned  to  New  York 
City  in  the  fall  of  1900  to  become  his  assistant 
in  the  Water  Street  Mission.  During  the 
latter  years  of  his  life  Mr.  Hadley  was  in 
great  demand  all  over  the  United  States  as  a 
speaker  and  away  from  the  city  possibly  nine 
months  out  of  the  year.  It  was  to  leave  him 
free  to  fill  these  engagements  that  Mr.  Wy- 
burn took  charge  of  the  work  in  the  Mission. 

A  great  bond  of  love  and  sympathy  ex- 
isted between  the  men  ;  they  shared  burdens, 
trials  and  joys.     When  God  called  Mr.  Had- 


34  God's  Good  Man 

ley  home  it  seemed  impossible  to  continue 
the  work  without  him,  but  events  have  gone 
to  prove  that  the  work  of  the  Water  Street 
Mission  is  of  God  and  not  of  man.  God  has 
set  His  seal  upon  the  work  in  the  past  few 
years  in  a  wonderful  way  and  has  thus  made 
up  in  a  certain  sense  the  loss  sustained  by 
Mr.  Hadley's  death.  The  traditions  of  Water 
Street  have  not  suffered  violence  at  Mr.  Wy- 
burn's  hands.  He  has  endeavoured  to  carry 
on  the  work  in  the  same  spirit  that  Mr.  Had- 
ley  manifested.  He  has  been  given  the  same 
love  for  the  ruined  and  fallen,  the  same  un- 
wearying patience  with  the  drunkard.  I  say 
God  has  given,  because  something  more  than 
human  patience  is  required  in  work  like  this. 
It  takes  divine  patience.  A  few  months  ago 
a  clergyman  called  Mr.  Wyburn  on  the  tele- 
phone and  asked  how  many  times  a  man 
could  fall  before  we  would  give  him  up.  His 
reply  was,  "We  never  give  a  man  up  in 
Water  Street."  And  this  is  true.  No  matter 
how  often  they  may  have  tried,  or  how  often 
they  may  have  fallen,  they  are  always  given 
another  chance.     Water  Street  people  not 


God's  Good  Man  35 

only  rely  upon  God's  promise,  "  If  thou  canst 
believe,  all  things  are  possible  to  him  that  be- 
lieveth,"  but  God  has  graciously  given  them 
the  encouragement  of  seeing  many,  who  have 
fallen  so  often  that  they  were  generally  con- 
sidered hopeless,  saved  and  fully  restored, 
— complete  victors  over  their  old  habits. 
Never,  at  any  time  during  the  history  of 
Water  Street,  has  so  large  a  percentage  of 
converts  "  made  good  "as  at  present.  John 
Wyburn  is  himself  a  reformed  drunkard. 
Like  nearly  all  Water  Street  men,  he  came 
to  the  Mission  in  a  lost,  ruined  condition. 
There  he  found  salvation  through  belief  in 
Jesus  Christ.  Mr.  Wyburn  here  is  allowed 
to  tell  his  own  story  and  in  his  own  w^ay  : 

"  I  am  an  Englishman  by  birth  and  came 
over  to  this  country  when  I  was  nineteen 
years  of  age.  I  went  into  business  and  for 
years  carried  it  on  successfully  in  New  York 
City  and  Brooklyn.  I  was  making  money 
fast  and  no  doubt  would  have  been  a  wealthy 
man  to-day  had  I  continued  in  the  right  way. 
I  became  a  member  of  a  Baptist  Church  up- 
town and  the  pastor  and  his  wife  became 


36  God's  Good  Man 

very  much  interested  in  me.  I  was  pressed 
into  service,  became  secretary  of  the  Sunday- 
school  and  also  assistant  librarian.  Yet,  al- 
though my  name  was  on  the  church  books 
and  I  was  active  in  its  work,  I  was  not  a 
Christian  and  did  not  know  Jesus  Christ  as 
a  personal  Saviour.  Had  I  remained  under 
that  influence  I  no  doubt  would  have  become 
a  Christian  but  I  drifted  away  and  in  a  few 
years  began  to  drink.  I  never  intended  to 
become  a  drunkard,  but  I  thoughtlessly  con- 
tinued in  that  life  until  I  w^as  frequently  ab- 
sent for  months  on  drunken  sprees.  My 
name  w^ould  be  published  both  here  and 
across  the  water  and  I  was  advertised  for  as 
a  missing  man. 

"  It  was  while  I  was  away  on  one  of  these 
trips  that  my  business  was  taken  away  from 
me  by  process  of  law  and  I  was  made  an  ha- 
bitual drunkard  by  the  courts.  When  I  re- 
turned and  learned  this  I  began  to  drink 
harder  than  ever.  It  was  on  the  25th  of 
September,  1888,  that  I  was  sent  with  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  Mr.  S.  H.  Hadley,  by  one 
of  the  converts  of  the  Mission,  who  did  not 


God's  Good  Man  37 

say  anything  to  me  about  the  fact  of  Mr. 
Hadley  being  the  superintendent  of  the 
McAuley  Mission,  but  simply  said,  *  This  is  a 
friend  of  mine  and  he  will  help  you.'  On  the 
way  down  to  the  Mission,  I  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  I  would  strike  him  for  ten  dollars. 
Fortunately  for  me  he  was  not  at  home.  I 
retained  the  letter  and  went  out  looking  for 
more  whiskey.  I  was  unsuccessful  in  getting 
much  money  that  afternoon.  I  believe  God 
was  in  it.  It  had  been  easy  for  me  to  get 
five  or  ten  dollars  a  day.  I  had  done  an  ex- 
tensive business  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn, 
and  I  had  lots  of  friends  at  one  time.  I 
hunted  all  the  afternoon  for  a  man  who  had 
been  one  of  my  foremen  for  many  years,  and 
finally  found  him.  But  he  had  just  paid  out 
all  the  ready  money  he  had  for  a  new  oven 
(he  was  just  starting  in  the  baking  business 
for  himself),  and  could  only  give  me  a  quarter. 
With  that  I  bought  my  last  drink,  crossed 
the  bridge,  and  came  to  the  Mission. 

**  It  has  always  been  a  puzzle  to  me  as  to 
how  I  found  it.  I  knew  nothing  about  the 
neighbourhood,  but  I  have  always  firmly  be- 


38  God's  Good  Man 

lieved  that  it  was  God  who  was  leading  me, 
and  so  I  woke  up,  as  it  were,  to  find  myself 
seated  in  the  McAuley  Mission,  still  holding 
the  letter  to  Mr.  Hadley.  Even  then  I  had 
not  the  slightest  idea  it  was  a  mission.  It 
was  my  first  experience  of  the  kind.  I  be- 
came interested  in  the  man  sitting  next  to  me. 
He  was  a  red-headed  Irishman,  who  wanted 
to  get  a  place  to  sleep,  and  I  told  him  I  would 
give  him  the  price,  and  he  did  get  a  bed  that 
night.  I  have  never  seen  him  since,  but  have 
never  ceased  to  pray  for  him. 

"  Some  one  told  Mr.  Hadley  that  I  wanted 
to  see  him,  and  he  came  to  where  I  was  sit- 
ting and  I  gave  him  the  letter.  After  he  read 
it,  he  said,  *  Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  * 
I  told  him  that  I  wanted  to  get  sobered 
up  so  that  I  could  go  back  to  my  business, 
and  he  said,  *Is  that  all  you  want?'  I 
thought,  *  If  you  only  knew  how  impossible 
it  was  for  me  to  keep  sober,  you  would  not 
speak  so  lightly  about  it.'  But  a  moment 
later  he  said,  his  face  beaming  with  light  and 
love,  *  What  you  need,  my  dear  brother,  is 
Jesus  Christ  as  your  friend  and  Saviour  ;  He 


God's  Good  Man  39 

will  sober  you  up  and  you  will  never  want 
another  drink.'  I  accepted  his  invitation  to 
stay  to  the  meeting. 

"  What  a  wonderful  meeting  it  was !  The 
hymns  that  were  sung  took  me  back  to  my 
childhood  days  ;  every  man  seemed  to  be 
saying  to  me  through  their  testimonies, 
*  There  is  hope  for  you  ;  Jesus  will  save  you.' 
And,  when  the  man  who  sent  me  to  the  Mis- 
sion stood  up  and  said  he  was  saved,  I  im- 
mediately stood  up  and  said,  *  I  want  some 
of  that,'  and  that  very  moment  the  great 
transaction  was  done.  *A11  the  fitness  He 
requireth  is  that  you  should  feel  the  need  of 
Him.'  Jesus  knew  what  I  needed  far  better 
than  I  did,  and  He  forgave  my  sin  and  re- 
bellion and  made  me  a  new  man  in  Christ 
Jesus. 

"  I  went  to  the  penitent  form  at  the  close 
of  the  meeting,  and  the  devil  followed  me, 
every  step  of  the  way.  When  I  got  down 
on  my  knees  to  pray,  he  very  vividly  brought 
to  my  mind  my  old  life  of  unbelief,  and  he 
said,  *  What's  the  use  of  your  praying  ?  You 
don't  believe  in  prayer  anyhow.'     I  got  up 


40  God's  Good  Man 

and  down,  up  and  down  several  times,  but 
finally  the  victory  was  won  and  sweet  deliv- 
erance came  to  me — victory  through  the 
might  and  power  of  the  blessed  blood  of 
Jesus,  and  from  that  moment  I  have  never 
wanted  a  drink  of  whiskey.  Just  before  this 
every  drop  of  blood  in  my  veins  was  crying 
out  for  whiskey.  It  had  been  impossible  for 
me  to  satisfy  the  craving.  But  Jesus  had 
taken  me  at  my  word  the  very  second  I 
said,  *  I  will.'  The  old  life  passed  away  and 
Jesus  came  into  my  heart  and  life  and  made 
it  impossible  for  me  to  drink.  A  new  man 
in  Christ  Jesus  does  not  want  whiskey ;  and 
though  I  suffered  the  tortures  of  the  damned 
— and  while  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  demons 
in  hell  were  tugging  at  my  life — yet  Jesus 
was  with  me  all  night  long.  It  was  the  most 
strenuous  fight  I  ever  had.  The  devil  was 
after  my  soul.  He  had  me  once,  'tis  true, 
but  he  can't  have  me  any  more. 

*'  From  that  day  I  have  been  a  free  man  in 
Christ  Jesus.  Oh  !  the  luxury  of  the  freedom 
I  now  enjoy,  which,  in  the  old  days,  I  would 
have  given  any  part  of  my  body  to  obtain, 


God's  Good  Man  41 

The  appetite  for  liquor  which  once  held  me 
fettered  is  gone  forever — and  Jesus  did  it  all. 
There  is  another  thing  I  should  like  to  make 
reference  to.  All  through  the  first  year  of 
my  Christian  life  I  was  uneasy  on  the  score 
of  using  tobacco,  and  was  prompted  to  give 
it  up.  Indeed,  I  tried  several  times  to  do 
so,  but  without  permanent  success.  But  I 
finally  determined  that,  on  the  occasion  of 
my  first  anniversary,  I  would  renounce  the 
habit  forever,  I  dearly  loved  *the  weed,' 
and  was  an  inveterate  user  of  it  in  every 
way.  I  did  not  regard  it  as  a  sin — it  would 
be  a  sin  to  me  if  I  went  back  to  it  now — 
and  do  not  now,  but  I  desired  to  give  it  up 
for  Jesus'  sake.  Well,  on  my  anniversary 
night,  I  bought  what  was  to  be  my  last 
cigar,  intending  to  smoke  it  on  my  way 
down  to  the  Mission.  I  lit  it  but  was  unable 
to  smoke  it,  and  after  a  few  whifTs  I  flung  it 
away.  During  the  meeting  which  followed, 
I  publicly  announced  my  intention  to  give 
up  the  use  of  tobacco,  and  I  have  never 
taken,  or  even  wanted,  a  smoke  or  chew 
since  that  night. 


42  God's  Good  Man 

"From  the  very  first  night  of  my  new 
career,  I  have  tried  to  throw  out  the  Life- 
line to  poor  dying  drunkards  in  the  dear 
old  Mission.  For  more  than  six  years  now 
I  have  been  its  superintendent.  God  has 
wonderfully  blessed  my  feeble  efforts,  and  all 
over  this  land  men  are  to  be  found,  who  date 
their  conversion  to  the  time  when  they  have 
heard  me  give  my  simple  testimony.  That 
God  should  have  taken  a  wretched,  half- 
crazed  drunkard  such  as  I  was,  and  raised 
me  to  be  His  servant  and  messenger,  is  to  me 
a  thing  of  ever-increasing  wonder.  I  count 
it  the  highest  privilege  under  heaven  to  be 
able  to  give  my  life  for"  the  salvation  of  the 
lost  drunkards  of  this  land,  and  point  them 
to  the  only  One  that  can  help  them — Jesus 
Christ  the  precious  Son  of  God.'^  Such  is 
the  testimony  of  John  H.  Wyburn — re- 
claimed drunkard — Mission  superintendent — 
God's  good  man. 


Ill 

DE  PROFUNDIS 

**  Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried  unto  thee,  O  Lord." 

— Fs.  cxxx,  I, 

DOWN  on  the  Bowery  stands  a  cer- 
tain saloon,  which,  in  all  probability, 
is  the  vilest  hole  on  God's  earth. 
For  superlative  depravity  it  out-Herods 
Herod.  The  proprietor  of  any  other  low 
"  gin-mill  '*  in  Manhattan  would  consider  his 
place  of  business  grossly  insulted  were  it 
mentioned  in  the  same  breath  with  this  in- 
famous dive.  Tramps  and  hoboes,  ranging 
the  country  from  Eastport  to  San  Diego, 
Port  Townsend  to  Florida  Keys,  unani- 
mously pronounce  it  to  be  "  the  limit."  It  is 
a  foul  by-wash,  into  which  the  flotsam  and 
jetsam  of  the  Bowery  is  constantly  swished 
and  swirled — a  wharf  for  lost  souls,  on  their 
last,  lorn  journey  to  destruction.  Outside, 
there  is  nothing  to  attract  or  admire;  but 
then,  the  poor  wretches  who  sweep  through 
43 


44  l^e  Profundis 

its  grimy  swing-doors  are  not,  in  the  least, 
interested  in  elaborate  fagades  or  artistic  ex- 
teriors. Inside,  it  is  mean,  squalid,  clammy, 
mephitic.  The  floor  is  dank,  the  ceiling 
blackened.  Everything  the  hand  touches 
clings  faintly,  and  defiles.  It  is  a  vestibule 
of  the  pit — the  anteroom  of  hell. 

It  is  nothing  extraordinary  or  unusual  for 
some  poor  wretch  to  die  in  this  awful  dive. 
Indeed,  it  is  part  of  the  order  of  the  day — or 
rather  of  the  night.  Men  in  various  stages 
of  tuberculosis,  alcoholism,  and  incurable  dis- 
ease loaf  and  lounge  about  the  filthy  bar. 
The  back  room  is  usually  crowded  with  the 
physically  unfit,  many  of  whom  walk  literally 
in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.  On 
stormy  nights,  the  atmosphere  of  this  back 
room  reminds  one  of  the  Black  Hole  of  Cal- 
cutta. Lying  about  the  floor,  stretched  out 
on  the  benches,  leaning,  half-reclined,  across 
the  tables,  dozens  of  men  of  all  ages  sleep 
right  through  the  night,  having  qualified  for 
the  questionable  privilege  by  the  purchase  of 
a  five  cent  "  schooner "  of  beer,  or  glass  of 
that  horrible,  stomach-rotting  mixture,  which 


De  Profundis  45 

sells  for  whiskey  on  the  lower  East  Side. 
When  daylight  comes,  a  bartender  rouses 
them  from  their  broken  slumbers — the  slug- 
gish ones  with  cuff  and  kick.  Frequently 
enough,  some  poor  wretch,  lying  face  down- 
ward, responds  to  neither.  He  is  canted 
roughly  over,  and  found  to  be  stone  dead  ! 
Anybody  know  anything  of  him  ?  No. 
Anybody  care?  No.  Out  he  goes  then — to 
Potter's  Field  ! 

An  occasional  visit  to  this  cesspool  of  de- 
pravity by  Christian  workers,  made  in  the 
interests  of  some  poor  castaway  for  whom 
they  had  searched  and  hoped  to  find,  has 
left  them  more  than  once  heart-sick  for 
hours.  The  thought  of  passing  a  whole 
night  there  is  charged  with  a  great,  shrink- 
ing horror.  Yet  we  cite  the  amazing  in- 
stance of  a  man,  who,  day  and  night  for 
seven  long  years,  made  this  hell  of  a  back 
room  his  only  home  I  Not  a  barroom  loafer 
from  his  youth  up,  nor  an  East  Side  degen- 
erate of  the  third  generation,  but  a  man  of 
splendid  family, — a  family  which  has  given, 
at    least,   one   great   public   servant   to   the 


46  De  Profundis 

American  commonwealth.  Seems  incredible, 
doesn't  it  ?  It  is  true,  nevertheless.  Yet  so 
marvellously  changed  is  he,  that  to  look  at 
him  to-day  is  to  find  it  pretty  difficult  to 
imagine  his  having  crossed  the  threshold  of 
a  drink-shop  at  any  time,  let  alone  having 
housed  himself  for  years  in  the  rottenest 
dive  to  be  found  in  the  whole  of  New  York 
City.  No  greater  example  of  the  down- 
swooping,  uplifting  power  of  the  Gospel  of 
Jesus  Christ  lives  to-day  than  this  man. 
God  found  him  low.  He  has  lifted  him 
high.     De  profimdis — out  of  the  depths  ! 

Charles  Bayard  Stewart  was  born  and 
raised  in  what  he  himself  calls  a  Puritan 
town.  His  parents  were  God-fearing  people, 
and  the  influences  surrounding  his  early 
years  were  of  the  best.  He  came  of  good 
stock,  on  his  mother's  side  of  one  of  the 
oldest  families  in  the  country — the  Bayards. 
As  a  young  man  he  took  an  active  share  in 
the  religious  life  of  his  home  town,  being, 
among  other  things,  one  of  the  organizers  of 
the  local  branch  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  In  due 
time  he  married,  went  into  business  for  him- 


CHAELES  BAYARD  STEWART. 


De  Profundis  47 

self  and  prospered.  He  became  proprietor 
of  two  substantial  jewelry  stores,  and  a  citizen 
of  repute  and  respectability.  Everything 
pointed  to  a  happy,  prosperous  career.  "  On 
the  score  of  birth  and  up-bringing,  or  the  en- 
vironment of  my  early  manhood,"  he  said 
recently,  **  I  have  not  the  faintest  excuse  for 
the  harrowing  sins  of  after  years." 

Yet  Charles  Stewart  came  to  lose  every- 
thing that  life  held  dear — character,  business, 
friends,  wife,  home.  His  is  the  old,  old  story. 
The  social  glass,  the  steadily  increasing  love 
for  liquor,  the  reckless  abandon  to  its  crav- 
ings, then  ruin — utter  and  complete.  More 
than  fifteen  years  ago  he  drifted,  like  thou- 
sands of  other  derelicts — down  to  the  Bowery. 
Here  he  lived  the  sordid  life  of  an  East  Side 
*'bum" — picking  up  an  odd  job  now  and 
again,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  awful  craving 
for  whiskey,  which  never  let  up  or  left  him 
for  a  single  day.  Sleeping  usually  in  some 
hallway  or  in  a  truck  along  the  river  front,  a 
"  double-decker  "  cot  in  a  ten-cent  lodging- 
house  became  a  luxury  to  him.  As  for  food, 
it  consisted  usually  of  what  he  could  manage 


48  De  Profundis 

to  grab  from  the  free-lunch  counters.  Half- 
clothed,  half-fed,  entirely  liquor-soaked,  this 
one-time  respected  business  man  wandered 
for  years  aimlessly  about  the  Bowery. 
Finally,  he  joined  himself  to  the  battered 
outcasts  of  that  appalling  back  room.  Here 
he  existed  for  more  than  seven  years  I  "  Yes, 
and  I  fully  expected  to  die  there,"  he  has 
said,  "just  as  I  have  seen  many  another  do. 
More  than  once  have  I  leaned  across  the 
table  and  gone  to  sleep,  to  find,  when  I 
woke,  that  the  soul  of  the  poor  fellow  huddled 
up  next  to  me  had  gone  to  meet  its  God !  " 

Some  time  in  the  early  part  of  September, 
1907,  Stewart  fell,  while  full  of  whiskey,  and 
fractured  his  leg.  Hobbling  about  Chatham 
Square  on  crutches,  he,  one  day,  met  an  old 
acquaintance  who  said  to  him,  "  Charlie,  it 
looks  to  me  as  if  a  visit  to  316  Water  Street 
would  do  you  a  bit  o'  good." 

"  Why  ? — what's  going  on  down  there  ? 
Anything  being  handed  out?"  asked  Stew- 
art. 

"Most  likely.  It's  a  Mission — the  old 
Jerry  McAuley  Mission." 


De  Profundi's  4^ 

"  Huh — not  for  mine,"  growled  the  crip- 
pled drunkard.  "  I've  no  use  for  missions, 
churches,  or  any  such  truck." 

After  a  good  deal  of  persuasion,  however, 
Charlie  Stewart  limped  down  to  Water  Street, 
in  company  with  his  friend.  It  was  the 
night  of  the  superintendent's  anniversary, 
and  the  old  Mission  Hall  was  crowded  to  the 
doors.  Of  the  marvellous  miracle  of  grace 
performed  that  night  in  the  life  of  Charles 
Bayard  Stewart,  he  himself  shall  tell. 

"  I  managed  to  squeeze  inside,"  he  says, 
''and  stood  in  the  rear  of  the  room.  The 
meeting  was  of  a  kind  I  had  never  seen  or 
attended  before.  More  than  that,  I  heard 
some  wonderful  stories  told  by  men  who  had 
lived  just  the  life  I  was  living — men  that 
once  were  drunkards.  Some  of  them  had 
been  drinking  companions  of  my  own.  I 
had  missed  them  from  the  old  haunts,  and 
concluded  they  were  dead.  Yet  here  they 
were — respectable,  sober,  and  testifying  to 
the  work  of  grace  begun  in  their  hearts. 
Their  testimonies  were  amazing,  as  were 
those    of    many    whom    I    did    not    know. 


50  De  Profundis 

Through  them,   God's  Spirit  spoke  to  my 
weary,  sin-sick  soul. 

"  At  the  conclusion  of  the  testimony  serv- 
ice, Mr.  Wyburn  came  and  spoke  to  me. 
At  his  invitation  I  went  forward,  and  knelt 
down  with  ten  other  men  at  the  penitent's 
bench.  I  cried  for  mercy  in  the  words  of  the 
publican  of  old — *  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner ! '  The  moment  I  prayed  that  prayer 
I  felt  a  great  change  steal  over  me.  I  did 
not  understand,  that  night,  what  it  was.  All 
I  knew  was  that  I  was  experiencing  a  peace 
I  had  never  known  before.  I  know  now 
what  it  was.  It  was  the  peace  of  God,  that 
passeth  all  understanding.  That  night  my 
sins  were  pardoned — blotted  out.  Jesus 
Christ  came  into  my  life.  I  was  born  again 
— a  new  man — a  new  creature  in  Christ  Jesus 
— born  from  above — born  of  the  Spirit.  Old 
things  passed  away,  and  all  things  became 
new.  From  that  hour  down  to  this  present 
moment,  I  have  never  had  the  remotest 
desire  to  take  a  drink  of  whiskey,  or  revert 
to  any  habit  of  the  old  life.  '  If  any  man  be 
in  Christ,  he  is  a  new  creature.'     That's  the 


De  Profundis  51 

secret  of  it  all — a  secret  into  which  I  have 
entered  gloriously.  There  is  no  earthly 
shadow  of  a  doubt  about  it — the  facts  of  my 
redemption  are  absolutely  incontrovertible. 
The  whole  Bowery — from  Cooper  Square  to 
Chatham  Square — knows  me  for  what  I  was, 
for  what  I  am.  When  I  hobbled  into  the 
McAuley  Mission,  I  felt  and  looked  like  an  old 
man  of  eighty.  To-day,  I  feel  like  a  young 
man  of  thirty.  I  have  gone  into  business 
again,  and  am  prospering  in  every  material 
way.  This,  however,  I  regard  as  least  of  the 
blessings  that  have  come  to  me  during  these 
four  years  and  more.  The  crowning  joy  is  my 
daily  communion  with  Jesus  Christ  my  Lord. 
He  saved  me,  He  keeps  me,  and  He  strength- 
ens me  by  His  Spirit's  might  in  the  inner 
man.  For  the  future  I  do  not  fear.  *  The 
beloved  of  the  Lord  shall  dwell  in  safety  by 
Him ;  and  the  Lord  shall  cover  him  all  the 
day  long.'  " 

Visitors  in  Water  Street  have  sometimes 
inquired  for  him  thus :  **  Do  you  mind 
pointing  out  the  man  of  whom  we  have 
heard,  who  lived  for  seven  years  in  a  Bowery 


5  2  De  Profundis 

dive  ? "  And  upon  being  asked,  "  See  if 
you  can  pick  him  out  yourselves.  Take  a 
good  look  around  the  room,  and  tell  me 
which  of  the  converts  you  imagine  likely  to 
have  been  the  man,"  not  once  have  these 
people  guessed  correctly.  Nor  is  this  at 
all  surprising.  Well-dressed,  well-groomed, 
dapper  and  smiling,  Mr.  Stewart  looks  the 
very  last  man  in  the  world  to  have  passed 
through  that  terrible  time.  The  mere  out- 
ward change  in  the  man  is  in  itself  a  miracle 
— but  the  life  he  lives  and  leads  is  one  far 
greater.  He  is  no  longer  without  home  or 
loved  ones ;  he  has  a  happy  home,  blessed 
with  a  Christian  wife  and  baby ;  he  has  proven 
the  truth  of  God's  promise  which  he  loves  to 
quote :  **  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God 
and  His  righteousness  and  all  these  things 
shall  be  added  unto  you."  He  often  visits 
his  old  haunts — praying  and  pleading,  in  that 
filthy  saloon,  with  men  to  come  to  Christ. 
The  poor  outcasts  all  know  him,  and  even 
the  proprietor  respects  him  for  his  consistent 
life,  and  allows  him  to  attempt  his  work  of 
rescue.     God    has    wonderfully    saved    this 


De  Profundis  53 

man ;  and  were  he  the  only  trophy  of  the 
work  in  Water  Street  during  the  past  five  or 
six  years,  it  would  have  been  well  worth  all 
the  money  and  labour  expended  to  have  ef- 
fected, under  God,  the  redemption  of  Charles 
Bayard  Stewart. 


IV 

THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  BREAD 

"And   they  told  what   things  were   done  in   the  way,  and 
how    He   was  known  of   them  in  the   breaking  of  bread." 

— Luke  xxiv.  jj". 

PERHAPS  the  most  effective  method  of 
relieving  physical  necessity,  in  opera- 
tion at  Water  Street,  is  the  Thursday- 
night  supper.  This  feature  of  the  work  was 
first  made  possible  by  the  generosity  of  the 
late  John  S.  Huyler ;  it  is  provided  for,  in 
these  days,  by  his  successor  in  the  office 
of  president — Mr.  Ferd.  T.  Hopkins.  For 
many  years  past,  the  same  means  for  the 
same  purpose  have  been  employed.  The 
means  are  bowls  of  coffee  and  beef  sand- 
wiches— the  purpose,  to  gather  a  crowd  of 
starving  outcasts,  and  having  satisfied  their 
hunger,  point  them  to  Him  who  can  break  to 
perishing  souls  the  Bread  of  Life.  That  this 
same  supper  has  yielded  results  of  the  most 
gratifying  order,  there  is  abundant  testi- 
54 


The  Breaking  of  the  Bread  55 

mony.  Scores  of  converts  are  to-day  testi- 
fying to  this  fact — that,  attracted  by  the  al- 
lurement of  physical  substance,  they  sought 
the  friendly  portals  of  the  McAuley  Mission, 
and  there  received  not  only  a  satisfying 
meal,  but  the  pardon  of  their  sins.  Down 
in  Water  Street,  as  in  the  village  of  Emmaus 
on  that  first  Easter  Sunday,  Jesus  Christ,  the 
risen  Lord,  has  again  and  again  revealed 
Himself  "  in  the  breaking  of  the  bread.'* 

Of  course,  it  goes  almost  without  saying 
that  not  all  who  profess  conversion  on  Sup- 
per Night  **  stand."  It  is  so  everywhere. 
Many  of  them  fall  by  the  wayside.  But 
what  of  that  ?  Even  the  most  utterly  soul- 
less mining  corporation  in  existence  is  con- 
tent to  handle  tons  of  quartz  in  order  to 
realize  a  few  ounces  of  gold.  And  are  the 
workers  in  the  fields  of  God  to  become  dis- 
couraged, and  be  taxed  with  failure,  because 
every  heap  of  crushed  human  clay  they 
handle  fails  to  yield  the  rich,  red  gold  of  the 
kingdom?  Not  so.  Thank  God,  the  glint 
of  precious  metal  does  often  reward  the  toil- 
ers, which,  cleansed  of  its  dross  by  the  refin- 


56  The  Breaking  of  the  Bread 

ing  fires  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  ultimately  shines 
in  the  diadem  of  the  Most  High. 

Let  us  peep  into  the  Mission  on  Supper 
Night,  say,  some  stormy  night  in  late  No- 
vember. On  no  other  evening  in  the  week 
does  the  same  awful  throng  gather.  Bad 
enough  at  other  times,  Thursday  evening 
sees  this  collection  of  human  driftwood  at 
its  worst.  The  meeting  room  is  crowded 
— ^jammed  to  the  doors  with  derelict  lives 
— the  human  driftage  of  the  world.  Out- 
side, a  pitiless  hail-storm  is  driving  along 
Water  Street,  like  a  host  of  hostile  spears. 
Late-comers  find  themselves  unable  to  gain 
admittance.  Bending  their  heads  to  the 
merciless  storm,  they  slouch  despairingly 
away.  Inside,  the  great,  huddled  horde  of 
outcasts  are  fairly  comfortable — at  least  they 
are  sheltered  from  the  fierce  November  blast. 
And  what  a  horde  I  Surely  no  such  awful 
crowd  of  debased,  sodden  humanity  could 
be  met  with  elsewhere  on  God's  wide  earth. 

Many  are  already  asleep.  Worn  out  with 
roaming  the  city  streets,  days  and  nights  on 
end,  they  are  utterly  unable  to  keep  awake 


The  Breaking  of  the  Bread  57 

until  supper  is  served.  Upon  almost  every 
countenance  is  the  mark  of  the  Beast,  tell- 
ing a  tale  of  days  and  years — sin-mauled, 
mangled,  flung  away.  Here  and  there  a 
face  less  evil,  fresher  than  the  rest,  catches 
the  eye  like  a  cameo,  from  its  setting  of  sur- 
rounding grime. 

Here  are  men  whose  downward  steps 
drink  and  the  devil  have  persistently 
dogged.  In  a  futile  struggle  for  self-mas- 
tery, they  have  lost  out — lost  out  utterly. 
Their  faces  wear  the  unmistakable  traces 
both  of  physical  want  and  spiritual  despair. 
And  here  they  are  I  Men,  from  whose  lives, 
humanly  speaking,  the  last  ray  of  hope  has 
fairly  spluttered  out.  Their  whole  existence 
is  nothing  but  a  weary  pilgrimage  from  one 
tramp's  shrine  to  another,  living  the  while 
on  the  swill  of  the  Bowery  free-lunch  coun- 
ters, or  on  what  may  be  rooted  from  among 
the  garbage  of  the  ash  cans.  Scores  of 
these  are  here  in  this  old  Mission  to-night, 
with  haggard,  unshaven  faces  and  lean,  lank 
limbs.  Here,  too,  are  some  of  "  the  skins," 
the  "  no-gooders  " — incorrigible  vagabonds, 


58  The  Breaking  of  the  Bread 

wriggling  through  life,  evading  every  re- 
sponsibility— parasites  on  the  body  politic. 
From  an  outside  standpoint  they  are  with- 
out a  single  redeeming  feature.  Yet  even 
these  are  dear  to  Water  Street — they  have 
souls  to  lose — souls  to  save. 

Supper  begins.  Of  conversation  there  is 
litde,  or  none.  Here  and  there  a  man  hav- 
ing some  slender  knowledge  of  another  may 
listlessly  discuss  with  him  the  sordid  details 
of  their  dreary,  meaningless  days.  But  on 
the  whole,  the  prevailing  feeling  is  obviously 
one  of  bitter  loneliness,  of  unlifting  isolation. 
Each  man  is  too  completely  entrenched  in 
his  own  misery  to  exercise  even  the  most 
languid  interest  in  that  of  his  yoke-fellows  in 
misfortune.  Thus  the  majority  sit  devouring 
their  food  in  sullen  silence.  Now  and  again 
some  superlatively  hungry  wretch  glances 
round  suspiciously  between  the  bites,  as  if 
fearful  that  somebody  or  other  might  attempt 
to  purloin  his  supper.  Were  such  a  con- 
tingency to  arise,  it  is  easy  to  imagine  him 
snapping  fiercely  for  its  retention  like  a 
rabid,  famished  hound. 


The  Breaking  of  the  Bread  59 

Among  this  welter  of  misery  sits  a  dark, 
sturdy-looking  man,  dirtier  than  most,  more 
wretched  than  many.  His  name  is  Benjamin 
Franklin  Alexander.  His  well-shaped  head 
is  covered  thickly  by  a  shock  of  black,  bris- 
tling hair.  His  clothes — better  fitted  to  adorn 
a  scarecrow  in  a  Kansas  corn  field  than  to 
their  present  purpose  of  forming  an  apology 
for  covering  a  human  form — he  has  fished 
from  an  old  ash  barrel.  He  is  here  to-night, 
because  he  has  just  been  kicked  out  of  a  dis- 
reputable, stale-beer  dive,  the  net  result  of  its 
proprietor  having  determined  that  this  man 
had  become  a  disgrace  to  the  delectable 
company  wont  to  foregather  about  his  filthy 
bar.  Yet  this  is  a  man  of  splendid  qualities, 
possessed  of  superb  business  acumen — a  man 
who  has  secured,  and  for  a  time  ably  filled, 
many  fine  positions  only  to  finally  fling  them 
one  after  the  other  over  some  hotel  bar.  In 
this  wretched,  lost  condition  he  has  been 
here  before.  He  will  be  here  again — but 
never  more  like  this.  Just  at  the  moment 
his  chief  concern  is  his  supper — seeing  to  it 
that  he  does  not  get  "  left ''  in  the  matter  of 


6o  The  Breaking  of  the  Bread 

coffee  and  sandwiches.  Yet,  although  he 
recks  it  not,  this  night  is  to  be  the  one  from 
which  all  others  are  to  count — for  him  the 
pivot-hour  of  Time  and  Eternity. 

Supper  is  ended.  The  testimony  meeting 
gets  under  way.  With  the  rest,  this  drunken 
outcast  listens  to  stories  of  rescued  lives — 
looks  on  the  salvage  of  the  Cross.  It  breaks 
him  down.  Soon  he  is  at  the  mercy-seat 
crying  to  God  for  pardon.  He  receives  it 
on  the  instant — pardon  and  peace  through 
Jesus  Christ.  As  certainly  as  at  the  gates  of 
Nain  the  Lord  of  Life  and  Death  laid  His 
quickening  hand  on  the  corpse  of  the 
widow's  son,  so  did  He  lay  His  hand  on  this 
dead  soul  in  Water  Street,  and  in  words  that 
sweetly  thrilled  it  into  throbbing  life  whis- 
pered :  "  Young  man,  I  say  unto  thee, 
Arise!'' 

All  this  happened  nearly  six  years  ago. 
Mark,  I  pray  you,  in  this  year  of  grace  the 
marvellous  change.  This  one-time  outcast, 
this  sandwich-hunting  drunkard  is  to-day  a 
highly-tested  and  as  highly-valued  repre- 
sentative of  a  great  commercial  house.     And 


B.  F.  ALEXANDEK. 


The  Breaking  of  the  Bread  6l 

he  is  something  more.  He  is  a  living  wit- 
ness to  the  life-giving  power  of  God.  "  And 
he  that  was  dead  sat  up  and  began  to 
speak."  In  pursuance  of  his  temporal 
duties,  he  crosses  the  American  continent 
twice  in  every  year.  And  everywhere  he 
goes,  he  seeks  out — often  at  some  personal 
trouble  and  inconvenience — some  church, 
mission-hall  or  gathering  of  Christian  work- 
ers where  he  can  tell  out  the  story  of  his 
wreck  and  rescue.  Through  the  throbbing 
centres  of  the  Middle  West;  in  the  wintry 
regions  of  the  Canadian  Dominion ;  under 
the  sheltering  palms  of  Florida ;  'neath  the 
clustering  spires  of  Brooklyn  ;  in  the  sun- 
kissed  cities  of  California,  Alexander  is  pro- 
claiming a  salvation  that  found  him  low  but 
lifted  him  high  ;  that  raised  him  from  a  dung- 
hill to  sit  with  Christ  Jesus  in  heavenly 
places  ;  that  found  him  dead,  and  brought 
him  life — "  life  that  shall  endless  be."  Here 
is  his  testimony,  as  he  has  himself  related  it 
to  tens  of  thousands  in  all  parts  of  the  North 
American  continent : 

"I    was  born   of  Christian   parents,   just 


62  The  Breaking  of  the  Bread 

forty-four  years  ago.  My  home,  life  and 
early  training  were,  in  all  respects,  such  as 
might  have  been  expected  to  make  me  a 
man  who  would  prove  a  stay  and  comfort  to 
those  who  loved  me,  and  a  respected  mem- 
ber of  society.  Looking  backward  to  those 
happy  years,  it  seems  almost  incredible  that 
I  should  have  allowed  myself  to  be  dragged 
from  th&  path  of  rectitude  and  sobriety,  down 
to  the  very  gates  of  hell.  Yet  it  was  so.  It 
was  as  a  boy  at  school  that  I  first  learned  the 
taste  of  liquor,  and  when  a  few  years  later  I 
came  to  New  York  to  go  into  business,  I  soon 
acquired  a  liking  for  the  stuff  that  was  to 
blight  and  ruin  my  life.  Of  course,  like 
other  deluded  fools,  I  imagined  myself  pos- 
sessed of  sufficient  will-power  to  be  able  to 
take  a  drink  or  leave  it  alone — ^just  as  I 
chose. 

"I  soon  discovered  my  error — discovered 
that  the  great  Enemy  of  souls  was  pos- 
sessed of  an  infinitely  greater  power  than 
that  to  which  I  laid  my  boasted  claim.  At 
the  age  of  twenty-four  I  married,  and  a  year 
later  God  gave  to  my  wife  and  me  a  lovel)) 


The  Breaking  of  the  Bread  63 

baby  girl.  The  man  never  lived  that  loved 
his  wife  and  child  more  fondly  than  I  did 
mine.  But  the  demon  Drink  had  gripped 
my  life,  and  held  me  unrelentingly  in  its 
power.  Try  as  I  would,  I  could  not  loosen 
the  fetters,  and  as  an  inevitable  consequence, 
my  duties  as  husband  and  father  became 
shamefully  neglected.  Things  went  from 
bad  to  worse,  so  that  from  this  time  onward, 
for  fifteen  years,  I  made  life  a  positive  hell- 
on-earth  for  my  dear  wife  and  daughter. 
Much  of  my  neglect  of  her  my  wife  kept 
hidden  from  the  eyes  of  the  world,  yet  always 
nursing  her  secret  sorrow. 

"  It  was  about  eighteen  years  ago,  I  suppose, 
when  I  first  struck  Water  Street.  About  this 
time  I  had  wandered  off  in  a  drunken  con- 
dition to  Philadelphia,  there  to  be  met  and 
befriended  by  a  gentleman  who  sent  me  back 
home  to  New  York  with  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  S.  H.  Hadley,  then  superintendent 
of  Water  Street  Mission.  I  went  to  see  Mr. 
Hadley,  and  there  in  the  old  Mission  Hall  I 
first  heard  the  glad  news  that  God  could 
save  a  drunkard — save  him  from  himself  and 


64  The  Breaking  of  the  Bread 

his  sins.  I  called  on  His  name,  and  found 
deliverance.  But  I  speedily  fell  back  into 
the  old  wretched  rut  in  which  my  life  had 
for  years  been  cast.  And  the  cause  of  this 
failure  is  not  far  to  seek.  In  my  arrogant 
self-sufficiency,  I  imagined  that  all  I  required 
from  Jesus  Christ  was  a  helping  hand  out  of 
the  pit  I  had  digged  for  my  own  feet.  Once 
on  solid  earth  again,  reunited  to  my  family, 
and  with  a  good  business  prospect  ahead,  I 
imagined  myself  able  to  find  my  way  alone. 
Oh,  foolish  heart  1  In  a  very  short  time  I 
was  down  again — hurled  by  appetite  and  un- 
bridled desire  to  deeper  depths  of  misery 
than  heretofore. 

"  Within  three  months  I  was  usually  back 
at  Water  Street,  destitute,  and  in  rags.  And 
this  up-and-down  existence  continued  for 
nearly  fifteen  years.  During  this  period  I 
secured,  and  for  a  time  held,  many  fine  posi- 
tions. One  and  all  I  lost  through  my  un- 
controllable love  of  liquor.  Many  a  time 
have  I  started  out  of  New  York  carrying  a 
fine  line  of  samples,  en  route  for  some  West- 
ern city,  only  to  return  a  month  or  so  later, 


The  Breaking  of  the  Bread  65 

hoboing  my  way  back  on  a  freight  train. 
Finally,  drink  came  to  have  a  greater  attrac- 
tion for  me  than  anything  on  earth.  I  just 
lived  to  drink.  The  devil  had  me  beaten  to 
an  utter  standstill,  and  I  realized  that  which 
most  of  those  who  had  known  me  best  had 
not  hesitated  to  tell  me  was  perfectly  true — 
namely,  that  I  *was  no  good.'  One  man, 
however,  never  gave  me  up — never  turned 
me  down.  That  man  was  John  Wyburn. 
During  the  three  years  previous  to  Novem- 
ber, 1906,  I  became  a  greater  nuisance  at 
Water  Street  than  ever  before.  One  thing, 
however,  I  could  not  do — I  could  not  exhaust 
John  Wyburn's  patience,  or  John  Wyburn's 
love.  Many  a  time  I  deserved  to  have  been 
kicked  into  the  street.  Instead  of  my  de- 
serts, however,  I  continually  met  an  unweary- 
ing love — a  love  that  would  not  let  me  go. 

"  Finally,  on  the  7th  of  November,  1906, 
after  the  proprietor  of  one  of  the  most  infa- 
mous, stale-beer  dives  in  the  whole  of  New 
York  City  had  kicked  me  out  of  his  place  as 
a  disgrace  to  his  wretched  back  room,  God 
once  more  directed  my  steps  to  Water  Street. 


66  The  Breaking  of  the  Bread 

I  was  received  with  the  same  unaffected 
kindness  as  before.  At  the  same  tear-stained 
altar,  I  called  on  Christ  for  help,  realizing, 
at  last,  that  I  needed  God  to  keep  as  well  as 
to  save.  Pardon  came — pardon  for  a  rebel 
like  me.  When  I  rose  from  my  knees  that 
night,  wearing  an  old  suit  of  clothes  I  had 
fished  out  of  an  ash  barrel,  it  didn't  seem 
probable  that  there  could  be  much  chance 
for  me  in  this  world — whatever  the  next 
might  hold.  I  thought  of  all  my  blighted 
hopes  and  wasted  years ;  of  the  fine  posi- 
tions I  had  lost;  of  the  dear  ones  I  had 
deserted  for  rum.  Just  then  I  caught  sight 
of  a  text  painted  on  the  wall  of  the  Mission. 
It  was  this :  *  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of 
God  and  His  righteousness,  and  all  these 
things  shall  be  added  unto  you.'  Then  and 
there  I  took  God  at  His  word,  asking  no 
questions.  And  I  want  to  say  with  every 
scrap  of  emphasis  I  can  muster,  that  that 
promise  has  been  fulfilled  in  my  life  a  thou- 
sandfold. All  those  things  that  the  devil 
robbed  me  of  have  been  restored.  To-day  I 
have  as  comfortable  and  surely  as  happy  a 


The  Breaking  of  the  Bread  67 

home  as  any  in  New  York  City ;  I  am  at 
peace,  and  living  in  loving  fellowship  with 
my  dear  ones ;  I  am  filling  the  best,  the  most 
lucrative,  position  I  have  ever  held.  I  have 
troops  of  loving  friends,  a  bright,  joyous 
consciousness  of  the  indwelling  presence  of 
Christ  Jesus  my  Lord,  and  the  blessed  assur- 
ance that  one  day  I  shall  see  Him  face  to 
face.'' 

Supper  Night  at  Water  Street — is  it  justi- 
fied? Rather.  Will  it  continue  to  be 
provided?  I  think  it  will.  If  Benjamin 
Franklin  Alexander  were  the  only  trophy 
this  particular  ministry  could  boast  of  since 
its  inauguration,  he  constitutes  a  magnifi- 
cent return  for  all  the  money  and  labour 
expended.  To  have  effected  this  one  man's 
reclamation,  it  were  well  worth  while.  But 
he  is  not  alone.  Old  McAuley  Mission  is 
full  of  men  to  whom  Christ  Jesus  has  mani- 
fested Himself ''  in  the  breaking  of  the  bread." 


INTO  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

«'  And  took  his  journey  into  a   far    country    .     .     .     and 
when  he  had  spent  all    .    .     .     he  began  to  be  in  want." 

— Luke  XV.  ij,  14. 

FOR  many  years  there  stood,  right  in 
the  heart  of  Mulberry  Bend,  a  solitary 
ailantus  tree  which,  in  the  days  when 
this  now  densely  crowded  section  of  New 
York  was  a  pleasant,  rustic  neighbourhood, 
formed  part  of  a  shady  grove  planted  in  the 
rear  of  an  old-fashioned  homestead  owned 
by  one  Henry  Passman.  In  the  early  forties, 
however,  the  district  began  to  lose  its  ru- 
ral aspect.  The  old  mansion  disappeared. 
Tenement-houses  sprang  up  on  every  side  ; 
and  the  trees  were  hewn  down  with  the  ex- 
ception of  this  single  ailantus  which  for  some 
reason  was  allowed  to  stand. 

Mulberry  Bend  now  became  the  haunt  of 
desperate  criminals,  earning  for  itself  an  in- 
famous   notoriety   as  the    most    dangerous 
68 


Into  a  Far  Country  69 

quarter  of  the  city.  And  as  time  went  on 
the  ailantus  got  for  itself  a  reputation  as  evil 
and  ill-omened  as  the  neighbourhood  in  which 
it  stood.  Dark  deeds — murder  and  robbery 
— were  committed  under  its  spreading 
shadow.  When  the  draft  riots  of  1863 
broke  out  in  New  York,  and  the  lower  part 
of  the  city  for  several  days  given  over  to  a 
drunken,  frenzied  mob,  a  score  or  more  of 
negroes  were  strung  up  in  this  tree.  In  later 
years,  hopeless  men,  afflicted  by  remorse  or 
suffering  the  pangs  of  starvation,  got  into  the 
way  of  hanging  themselves  from  its  branches, 
until,  finally,  it  became  known  throughout 
the  whole  East  Side  as  the  Suicide  Tree. 

All  this  happened  years  ago,  and  for  al- 
most two  decades  the  Suicide  Tree  has  ceased 
to  exert  its  baleful  influence  over  the  hopeless 
habitues  of  Mulberry  Bend.  Yet  in  the  pleas- 
ant, little  park  now  laid  out  around  the  spot 
where  the  ailantus  once  stood,  ruined,  rum- 
soaked  outcasts  gather  as  of  yore.  No 
longer  does  the  sinister  gallows-tree  invite  to 
self-destruction.  Still,  from  Mulberry  Bend 
to  the  East  River  is  no  great  distance,  and 


yo  Into  a  Far  Country 

somebody  or  other  is  always  making  the 
journey.  Like  that  of  every  other  great  city, 
the  underworld  of  New  York  has  its  grades 
of  despairing  hopelessness.  And  any  East 
Sider  will  tell  you  that  the  "bums"  of  Mulberry 
Bend  stand  ever  nearest  to  the  Great  Divide. 
With  one  of  these  outcasts — possibly  the 
most  remarkable  character  that  ever  entered 
the  doors  of  Water  Street  Mission — this  chap- 
ter has  particularly  to  do. 

One  evening  in  the  early  part  of  May  he 
sat  on  a  bench  in  his  favourite  rendezvous, 
sullen  and  silent.  Usually  he  was  talkative 
enough,  and  passed  for  something  of  a  wit 
among  his  fellows  in  misfortune  around  Mul- 
berry Bend.  But  on  this  particular  night  he 
sat  for  hours,  his  chin  thrust  down  into  his 
chest,  uttering  never  a  word.  Small  wonder 
that  he  did  so,  for  that  day — the  first  in  a  long 
and  peculiarly  evil  life — he  had  been  given 
to  see  with  appalling  distinctness  that  his  life 
was  a  hideous,  helpless  failure — that  he — 
John  Tyler — was  absolutely  nothing  more 
than  a  parasite — part  of  the  waste  and  bur- 
den of  society. 


Into  a  Far  Country  7 1 

The  revelation  was  superlatively  humilia- 
ting. It  came  with  great  suddenness — it  hit 
him  tremendously  hard.  In  its  general  effect 
it  vividly  recalled  a  rude  awakening  he  ex- 
perienced ten  years  before  in  Porto  Rico,  when 
having  lain  down  in  a  drunken  stupor  on  the 
dock-wall  he  toppled  over  on  to  the  deck  of  a 
tramp  steamer,  twenty  feet  below.  Earlier 
in  the  day — a  day  held  over  from  the  frigid 
days  of  February — ^Tyler  had  sat  for  an  hour 
or  so  in  City  Hall  Park.  An  icy  wind  sweep- 
ing up  Frankfurt  Street  from  the  river 
snarled  across  the  open  spaces,  putting  the 
miserable  occupants  of  the  park  benches 
through  the  third  degree  of  the  homeless. 
Presently  a  wretched,  unwashed  beggar 
slouched  by,  and  a  man  sitting  next  to  Tyler 
said — "See  that  feller?  Fve  known  him  for 
twenty  years.  For  all  the  use  he  is,  either  to 
himself  or  anybody  else,  in  this  world,  he'd 
be  a  thousand  times  better  dead.  Why  he 
doesn't  go  and  make  a  hole  in  the  East 
River  gets  me."  Tyler  started  as  if  stung. 
"  Is  that  so  ?  "  he  said.  "  That  is  so,"  replied 
the  other.     "  There's  not  a  single  reason  on 


72  Into  a  Far  Country 

earth  why  that  bum  should  remain  on  top  of 
it  for  another  hour."  Tyler  got  up  and 
walked  away. 

*' '  For  all  the  use  he  is  to  himself  or  any- 
body else' — that  hits  me,"  he  mused.  "  '  He'd 
be  a  thousand  times  better  dead ' — and  that 
hands  me  a  wallop  too.  'Why  he  doesn't 
make  a  hole  in  the  water  gets  me ' — and  why 
I  don't  gets  me.  That  fellow  has  sized  me 
up  to  an  inch — and  didn't  know  it." 

He  slouched  off  to  Mulberry  Bend,  and  sat 
there  wrapped  in  gloomy  thought.  A  thou- 
sand things  crowded  his  brain,  the  most 
vivid  and  recurrent  of  which  were  the  words 
of  the  man  in  City  Hall  Park :  "  A  thousand 
times  better  dead!^^  Applied  to  himself,  the 
idea  was  brand  new,  bringing  with  it  the 
cruel  bitterness  of  defeat.  Never  before  had 
he  acknowledged  himself  beaten ;  never  be- 
fore had  he  admitted  having  reached  the 
end  of  his  tether,  though  many  times  hard 
driven  and  in  desperate  case.  Well,  he 
would  accept  the  apparently  incontroverti- 
ble conclusion.  That  night  should  see  the 
end. 


,  Into  a  Far  Country  73 

\       Grimly  he  set  about  reconciling  himself  to 

\  his  fate.     Life  was  a  tangled  skein  anyway, 

\  and  its  unravelling  was  beyond  him.     He  had 

\lived  through  his  tale  of  sixty  years,  ruling 

it  in  his  own  fashion — seeking  advice  from 

none.     And  the  finish  should  be  of  a  piece 

|(vith  the  rest.     He,  himself,  would  choose  the 

tianner  and    mode    of  exit.     To   die   in  a 

hospital,  a  poorhouse,  or  on  a  park  bench 

)me  wintry  night,  he  was  determined  not 

do.     Yet  some  such  fate  must  assuredly  be 

h^s,  if  matters  were  allowed  to  work  out  to 

their    logical   conclusion.     Well,   he   would 

himself  take  a  hand  in  the  game.     It  should 

be  the  East  River  as  soon  as  darkness  should 

again  brood  over  the  city.     It  was  the  only 

way. 

Presently  a  man  who  had  been  sitting 
near  him  got  up  and  walked  away,  leaving 
an  evening  paper  behind  him.  Tyler  took 
it  up  and  began  mechanically  to  read  it. 
Then  his  eye  fell  on  an  account  of  an  an- 
niversary celebration  at  the  Jerry  McAuley 
Mission.  The  paragraph  carried  his  mind 
back  thirty  years  or  more.     He  remembered 


74  Iiito  a  Far  Country 

how  as  a  young  man  of  wealth  and  position 
he  had  acted  as  escort  to  a  party  of  ladies 
down  to  this  very  Mission  to  see  and  hear 
Jerry  McAuley,  at  that  time  the  talk  of  the 
town.  Some  of  the  wonderful  stories  of  re- 
demption he  heard  that  night  now  came  back 
to  him  with  vivid  clearness.  Then  an  idea, 
as  new  to  him  as  the  thought  of  self-destruc- 
tion had  been,  crept  into  his  brain.  Could 
this  Mission,  or  whatever  it  stood  for,  help 
him,  John  Tyler  ?  It  was  not  likely.  Never 
in  his  life  had  he  made  the  faintest  effort  at 
reformation.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  uttered 
a  prayer.  He  had  no  hope  of  heaven — he 
had  no  fear  of  hell.  Such  things  were  not 
for  him.  He  was  beyond  the  pale.  There 
was  nothing  that  he  could  think  of  in  heaven 
or  earth  that  could  make  anything  more  of 
him  than  he  had  made  of  himself — a  total 
wreck.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  the 
East  River  after  all. 

He  flung  away  the  paper,  and  took  a  turn 
or  two  around  the  park.  The  idea  would 
not  down.  Why  not  try  it  ?  A  day  or  so 
couldn't  make  much  difference  anyway.     He 


Into  a  Far  Country  75 

came  back  to  his  bench  again.  *'  God/'  he 
muttered,  as  he  sat  down  and  pushed  his  face 
between  his  clenched  fists,  *'I  wonder  whether 
there's  anything  to  it?"  His  mother  he 
knew  had  faith  in  such  things.  He  had  often 
heard  her  say,  fifty  years  before,  that  Jesus 
Christ  could  save  the  vilest  sinner  from  his 
sins— could  cleanse  and  make  him  whole. 
Could  this  be  done  ?  If  it  could,  it  meant  the 
saving  of  John  Tyler,  for  there  were  none 
viler  than  he.  A  desperate  resolve  seized 
him.  A  strange  excitement  shook  him  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  Jesus  Christ,"  he  cried,  as  he  flung  his 
arms  heavenward,  "I  can't  pray — I  don't 
know  how.  But  if  you  will  give  me  a  power 
to  cut  this  cursed  drink  out  of  my  life,  I'll 
serve  you  faithfully  the  rest  of  my  days.  I 
mean  it — I  mean  it — so  help  me  God  I " 

Acting  at  once  on  his  newly-made  resolu- 
tion he  hurried  down  to  Water  Street  where 
an  evening  meeting  was  in  progress,  and 
there  cried  to  God  for  mercy — for  power  to 
get  the  victory  over  habits  that  had  held  him 
as  with  rings  of  steel  for  more  than  forty 


76  Into  a  Far  Country 

years.  And  what  he  sought  he  obtained. 
"  Looking  backward  to  that  memorable 
hour,"  he  said  to  me  a  short  while  ago,  **  I 
realize  that  from  the  very  moment  I  sought 
pardon  at  the  feet  of  Jesus  the  hideous  rec- 
ord of  an  awful  life  was  blotted  out  forever. 
Not  for  one  single  moment  since  that  time 
has  the  witness  within  of  my  acceptance  with 
Christ  been  withheld.  The  East  River  re- 
solve ?  Ah !  that  was  a  serious  business  at 
the  time  it  was  made,  but  I  can  afford  to 
smile  at  it  now  I " 

Yes,  Tyler  can  afford  to  smile  at  it  now — 
he  can  afford,  and  does,  to  smile  on  life  in 
general.  Things  have  prospered  wonderfully 
with  him  during  the  past  four  years.  I  have 
said  that  he  is,  possibly,  the  most  remarkable 
convert  Water  Street  has  yet  had.  I  repeat 
that  all  those  who  know  him  admit  this, 
and  to  those  who  do  not  I  want  to  convey 
some  sort  of  an  impression  of  how  remark- 
able a  man  he  really  is.  His  experiences 
and  adventures  in  out-of-the-way  corners 
of  the  earth  as  well  as  on  its  well-traversed 
highways  everywhere  have  been  alike  varied 


Into  a  Far  Country  77 

and  wonderful.  A  certain  cosmopolitan 
touch  is  in  his  blood — he  is  a  citizen  of 
the  world.  His  outlook  on  life  is  striking 
and  original.  He  can  patter  intelligibly 
in  half  a  dozen  languages ;  he  has  wit- 
nessed many  strange,  impenetrable  doings 
of  which  he  never  speaks.  He  is  a  born 
raconteur^  and  his  budget  of  entertaining 
stories  concerning  his  wanderings  to  and  fro 
in  the  earth  is  apparently  inexhaustible.  He 
has  circled  the  globe  five  times  and  is  as 
familiar  with  the  East  End  of  London,  the 
Quartier  of  Paris,  the  fan-tan  joints  of  Hong 
Kong,  the  Boca  of  Buenos  Ayres  or  the 
slums  of  Calcutta  as  he  is  with  the  New 
York  Bowery.  Six  years  of  his  life  were 
spent  in  the  Australian  bush — away  in  the 
back-blocks  where  he  worked  as  a  swagga. 
"  I  had  the  whole  world  for  a  stamping 
ground,"  he  has  said,  '*  for  more  than  twenty 
years."  Tall,  lithe,  with  not  an  ounce  of 
superfluous  flesh  about  him,  standing  straight 
as  an  arrow  in  spite  of  his  sixty  odd  years, 
splendidly  shaped  head,  deeply  marked  fea- 
tures, resolute  mouth,  and  a  voice  of  tre- 


78  Into  a  Far  Country 

mendous  power,  John  Tyler  would  command 
attention  anywhere. 

He  is  a  son  of  the  Old  Dominion.  De- 
scendant through  his  mother  of  John  Clark, 
whose  prayers  mingled  with  those  of  Wash- 
ington during  the  strenuous  days  of  Valley 
Forge,  and  through  his  father  of  a  former 
United  States  president,  John  Tyler  comes 
of  the  most  honoured  families  in  Virginia. 

**  Not  a  single  member  of  my  family  ever 
brought  the  vestige  of  a  stain  on  the  old 
name  excepting  myself,"  he  said  sorrowfully 
to  me  one  day,  "and  I — well,  in  almost 
every  civilized  country  on  this  planet  I've 
managed  to  be  what  a  fellow  in  Gravesend, 
England,  told  me  I  was — a  long,  lean,  lorn, 
lanky  loafer.  The  description  fitted  me  like 
a  glove.  Or,  as  another  chap  put  it  one 
day — *  Tyler,'  said  he,  *  you're  what  I  call  an 
international  bum.' 

"  I  took  my  first  drink  of  whiskey,"  he  told 
me  on  another  occasion,  "  in  the  year  1866. 
My  people  had  sent  me  to  a  private  boarding- 
school  away  in  Albemarle  County  to  prevent, 
as  they  thought,  my  contracting  evil  or  in- 


Into  a  Far  Country  79 

temperate  habits.  One  day  I,  in  company 
with  some  other  half-grown  lads,  visited  the 
Monticello  home  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  and 
there  tasted  liquor  for  the  first  time.  Forty- 
two  years  later  I  sat  in  Mulberry  Bend  Park 
a  ruined  outcast.  For  all  that  went  between, 
the  Lord  have  mercy  on  my  soul.  Of  course 
I  never  intended  to  become  a  drunkard  but 
right  from  early  manhood  I  became  a  dissi- 
pated rake.  And  an  exceptional  constitution 
enabled  me  to  keep  up  a  red-hot,  cracking 
pace  for  more  than  twenty  years.  At  my 
father's  death  I  inherited  a  fortune  and 
straightway  started  on  a  debauch  that  lasted 
for  two  solid  years.  Right  here  in  this  city, 
living  at  one  hotel  in  company  with  the 
hardest  drinking  set  to  be  found  within  its 
borders,  I  unloaded  money  enough  to  have 
kept  me  in  reasonable  comfort  the  remainder 
of  my  days.  Among  my  drinking  pals  was 
an  English  lord — the  most  abandoned  of  us 
all. 

"Finally,  I  went  broke,"  he  continued, 
"and  then  I  cleared  out  of  the  country. 
Time  and  again  I  tried  to  right  myself,  but 


8b  Into  a  Far  Country 

to  no  avail.  My  thirst  for  liquor  drove  nie 
like  the  wandering  Jew — round  and  round 
the  world.  I  was  always  able  to  work,  and 
have  tackled  every  conceivable  job  under  the 
sun — on  land  and  sea.  When  I  drew  my 
pay,  I  immediately  drank  it  up,  and  if  dis- 
charged, moved  on  to  another  place.  In 
India,  Australia,  Europe,  South  America  and 
the  Eastern  seas  the  same  shameful  story 
repeated  itself.  In  every  country  and  clime, 
the  devil  robbed  me  of  everything  worth 
having  or  holding,  and  sent  me  scudding 
along  like  a  ship  before  a  typhoon,  knowing 
and  caring  not  whither. 

"  One  time  I  determined  to  get  away  from 
this  awful  curse,  if  it  were  possible,  by  go- 
ing right  up  into  the  Australian  bush  where 
drink  was  neither  sold  nor  used.  I  got  right 
up  into  the  *  back-blocks,'  more  than  four 
hundred  miles  from  Sydney,  and  joined  my- 
self to  a  sheep  farmer.  For  nearly  a  year  all 
went  well,  and  I  imagined  myself  safe.  One 
day,  however,  the  old  craving  came  over  me 
like  a  raging  fever  and  I  was  done  for.  I 
drew  the  wages  due  me,  and  covered  that 


Into  a  Far  Country  8l 

long,  weary  tramp  of  four  hundred  miles 
back  into  Sydney  simply  and  solely  to  get 
drunk.  In  three  days  my  money  was  all 
gone  and  I  was  sleeping  under  the  stars  in 
Hyde  Park. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  of  another  escapade.  I 
was  in  London — hard  up  in  the  East  End.  I 
had  been  paid  off  from  an  East  Indian 
steamer,  and,  of  course,  had  speedily  swal- 
lowed the  money.  Thomas  F.  Bayard  was 
at  that  time  just  entering  on  his  term  as  first 
American  Ambassador  to  Britain.  Him  I 
straightway  determined  to  get  at,  by  hook 
or  crook.  So  off  I  went  to  the  Embassy  in 
Victoria  Street,  Westminster,  and  presented 
to  the  footman  a  card,  on  which  I  had  writ- 
ten— *  Would  His  Excellency  the  American 
Ambassador  be  pleased  to  grant  a  brief  inter- 
view to  John  Clark  Tyler,  of  Richmond,  Vir- 
ginia, an  American  citizen  travelling  abroad?* 
After  some  little  delay  I  was  conducted  into 
the  presence  of  Mr.  Bayard.  You  can  judge 
of  his  surprise  when  the  American  citizen 
turned  out  to  be  one  of  the  worst  vagabonds 
in  Europe  whose  only  business  was  to  ask 


82  Into  a  Far  Country 

for  the  temporary  loan  of  twenty-five  dollars ! 
Did  I  get  it  ?  Of  course  I  did.  Thomas  F. 
Bayard  was  a  Southerner  and  a  gentleman 
and  after  I  had  pitched  my  tale,  gave  me  all 
I  asked.  I  think,  however,  that  it  was  my 
unblushing  impudence  that  carried  the  day 
with  him.  That  was  one  of  many  times  that 
I  held  up  my  country's  representatives  in 
foreign  lands.  Indeed,  I  was  unfavourably 
and  disreputably  known  as  an  incorrigible 
panhandler  to  every  American  consul  in 
Europe.  And,  sometimes,  when  finding 
myself  in  some  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the 
British  Empire,  I  would  make  myself  known 
to  English  consuls  as  John  McCarthy  of 
Dublin,  or  Liverpool,  and  coax  assistance 
out  of  them  as  a  D.  B.  S — destitute  British 
subject.  Oh  I  the  sordid,  despicable  mean- 
ness of  it  all  1 

**  But  there  came  an  end  to  this  globe  trot- 
ting. I  felt  myself  getting  old  and  unable  to 
rough  it,  as  I  had  done  for  nearly  twenty  years. 
Then  again  I  began  to  have  a  longing  for 
the  old  country  and  I  determined  to  return. 
My  people  had  long  regarded  me  as  dead, 


Into  a  Far  Country  83 

and  I  did  nothing  to  undeceive  them.  What 
good  could  it  have  done  ?  They  were  but 
the  ashes  of  a  burnt-out  life  I  was  bringing 
home.  I  came  to  New  York,  and  sank  lower 
and  lower  with  every  passing  day.  I  worked 
spasmodically,  just  in  order  to  get  liquor. 
But  there  came  a  time  when  I  flung  the 
whole  thing  up.  Hope  died  right  out  in  my 
life  and  I  loafed  about  the  city,  and  slept  in 
the  Mulberry  Bend  Park  pavilion — down  on 
the  stone  floor.  I  was  beaten  at  last.  There's 
a  story  I  once  heard,  which,  although  it  has 
a  touch  of  humour  that  my  awful  condition 
had  not,  may  serve  to  indicate  my  utter 
helplessness  and  need.  There  was  an  Irish- 
man one  day  passing  near  St.  George's 
landing-stage  in  Liverpool  and  he  saw  an 
English  beggar  asking  alms.  The  poor  fel- 
low was  a  dreadful  cripple,  having  lost  an 
eye,  an  arm  and  a  leg.  Pat  gave  him  some 
money  and  passed  on.  Then  he  came  back 
and  gave  him  some  more — and  yet  a  third 
time.  The  poor  cripple  was  profuse  in  his 
thanks,  and  asked  the  Irishman  if  he  would 
tell  him  the  reason  why  he  had  acted  so  gen- 


84  '  Into  a  Far  Country 

erously.  *  Sure  I'll  tell  you/  said  Pat  jubi- 
lantly, *  an'  be  mighty  glad  to.  It's  this — 
you're  the  only  Englishman  I've  iver  seen 
in  my  life  that  had  been  properly  trimmed — 
trimmed  to  my  likin'.'  And,  believe  me,  in 
some  such  fashion  the  devil  must  have 
chuckled  over  me,  just  before  I  went  to 
Water  Street,  for  he  certainly  had  me 
trimmed  to  his  liking.  But,  praise  God,  I'm 
out  of  his  clutches  now — once  and  forever." 

The  days  immediately  following  his  con- 
version were  not  easy,  languorous  ones  for 
John  Tyler.  A  man  who  has  been  a  drunk- 
ard and  a  vagabond  for  forty-two  years  does 
not  easily  fit  in  with  respectability  and  good 
citizenship.  But  the  man  persevered.  God 
helped  him  and  he  strove  to  help  himself. 
His  first  job  was  in  a  Bowery  lodging-house, 
which  brought  him  seventy-five  cents  a  day, 
his  next  a  clerkship  at  seven  dollars  a  week. 
Then  he  secured  work  in  Bellevue  Hospital 
— working  as  a  painter.  Eventually  a  man 
who  had  known  him  years  before  gave  him 
a  chance  which  he  eagerly  seized.  To-day 
he   is   the   successful   superintendent   of  an 


JOHN  TYLEB. 


Into  a  Far  Country  85 

up-town  office  building.  "Jesus  Christ 
has  done  much  for  me/'  he  will  tell  you. 
**  Health  restored,  faculties  regained,  life 
changed,  hope  renewed  I  go  on  my  way 
rejoicing.*' 

Mr.  Tyler  is  much  sought  after  to  speak 
in  churches,  mission-halls  and  elsewhere. 
And  he  readily  responds.  Nowhere  is  he 
more  popular  than  at  the  East  Northfield 
Summer  Conferences.  He  has  often  spoken 
there  and  always  with  acceptance  and  power. 
As  a  public  speaker  he  has  commanding  nat- 
ural gifts.  When  one  remembers  that  these 
gifts  have  lain  unused  and  neglected  for 
more  than  a  generation,  their  quality  to-day 
is  little  less  than  marvellous.  It  is  my  delib- 
erate opinion  that  forty  years  of  wanton  and 
reckless  vagabondage  have  deprived  this 
country  of  the  services  of  a  man  who,  under 
happier  auspices,  had  ranked  as  one  of  the 
greatest  of  living  orators.  Something  has, 
however,  been  saved  from  the  wreck,  and 
out  of  the  salvage  God  is  fashioning  for 
Himself  an  instrument  of  usefulness  and  hon- 
our. 


VI 

SAVED  TO  SERVE 

"  They  shall  be  in  bondage     .     .    .     and  after  that,  shall 
they  come  forth,  and  serve  Me  in  this  place.'* — Acts  vii.  7. 

OUT  of  the  bar  of  a  dingy,  third-rate 
hotel  in  a  small  city  of  eastern  Penn- 
sylvania, a  man,  loaded  with  liquor, 
staggered  uncertainly  up  to  his  room.  All 
through  a  long  day  he  had  hung  around  in 
that  bar,  pouring  down  his  parched,  cracked 
throat  the  vile  concoction  an  indulgent  ex- 
cise authority  permitted  the  proprietor  to 
retail  to  his  patrons  in  lieu  of  whiskey.  Yet 
he  was  not,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  drunk. 
He  had  reached  that  stage  of  debauchery,  fa- 
miliar enough  to  drinking  men,  when,  having 
reached  a  certain  condition  of  comatose  stu- 
pidity, it  became  possible  to  swallow  down 
draught  after  draught  of  ruinous  rubbish, 
without  its  having  any  further  apparent  effect. 
Once  in  his  room,  the  man  locked  the  door, 

and  pushed  the  bureau  behind  it  as  a  barri- 
86 


Saved  to  Serve  87 

cade.  He  turned  the  contents  of  his  pockets 
out  on  the  table,  tore  all  his  papers  into  tiny 
fragments,  flung  them  into  the  grate,  set  a 
light  to  them,  and  watched  them  consume. 
He  crossed  to  the  windows  and  closed  them 
down  tight,  then  taking  the  heavy  bedspread, 
he  stuffed  it  into  the  chimney  opening  of  the 
fire-grate.  Then  with  a  hand  palsied  and 
shaking  he  turned  out  the  gas-jet,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  with  his  hand  resting  on  the 
bracket.  A  pale,  sickly  moon,  thrusting  its 
face  timidly  from  behind  a  bank  of  clouds, 
shone  in  at  the  window  flinging  its  ghostly 
rays  on  the  features  of  the  drunkard  standing 
with  outstretched  arm.  For  a  moment  or 
two  he  stood  almost  motionless.  Then,  with 
a  swift  jerk  he  turned  on  the  current  of  gas, 
staggered  towards  the  bed,  and  flung  himself 
down  to  die. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  hotel  proprietor, 
having  closed  his  premises  for  the  night, 
passed  along  the  hallway  on  his  way  to  his 
room  where  strong  fumes  of  escaping  gas 
met  him.  It  was  the  work  of  a  few  min- 
utes to  summon  help,  force  the  door,  and 


88  Saved  to  Serve 

drag  from  his  intended  death-chamber  the 
unconscious  form  of  the  would-be  suicide. 
It  was  a  narrow  shave.     A  close,  close  call. 

Yet  this  man,  ruined  by  a  sordid  ambition, 
and  goaded  by  an  uncontrollable  love  of 
liquor  to  the  attempting  of  his  life,  had  once 
looked  out  on  the  world  with  eyes  unbleared, 
with  heart  unstained.  Born  of  Christian  par- 
ents, petted  child  of  a  mother  who  cared  little 
for  herself  and  whose  only  concern  was  that 
her  lad  should  grow  to  be  a  good  man,  Carl- 
ton Park  had  of  his  own  willfulness  brought 
himself  to  so  dire  a  pass.  Reared  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Methodist  Church,  nurtured  in 
its  traditions,  and  surrounded  from  birth  by 
its  uplifting  influences,  he  had  at  seventeen 
joined  himself  to  her  communion  in  active 
membership. 

In  spite  of  this  outward  confession,  how- 
ever, he  failed  to  make  good  as  a  loyal- 
hearted  Christian.  This  he  attributes  to  his 
lack  of  courage  to  witness  in  an  out-and-out 
fashion  for  his  Lord.  Retrogression  followed, 
attended  by  the  acquisition  of  habits  which 
were  one  day  to  hold  him  with  the  clutch  o{ 


Saved  to  Serve  89 

a  vise.  After  a  few  years  of  this  kind  of 
apostate  living  God  spoke  to  Park  again, 
and  he  hearkened  to  the  call,  and  began  a 
career  of  usefulness  in  His  service.  **  At  this 
period  of  my  life/'  he  says,  ''  God  was  very 
dear  to  me,  and  used  me  in  His  service.  I 
became  a  messenger  of  the  Cross,  and  carried 
with  me  wherever  I  went  a  story  of  redeem- 
ing grace." 

Then  came  a  time  when  a  questionable 
ambition  entered  his  life.  As  a  young  man, 
he  had  risen  to  positions  of  administrative 
importance  in  the  trade  society  to  which  he 
belonged ;  and  later,  his  outward  life,  charac- 
terized by  integrity  and  freedom  from  vicious 
habits,  appealed  to  his  fellow  unionists  and  he 
was  elected  their  national  representative.  "  I 
took  the  question  of  my  acceptance  to  God 
in  prayer,  as  I  did  every  other  question  in 
those  days,'*  Mr.  Park  has  told  me,  "and 
had  I  listened  to  the  promptings  of  His  Spirit 
and  my  own  better  nature,  I  should  have  re- 
fused the  position  and  thus  saved  both  my 
loved  ones  and  myself  years  of  sorrow  and 
pain.     But  the  tempter  used  my  vanity  as  a 


90  Saved  to  Serve 

special  pleader.  I  began  to  tell  myself  that 
enlarged  opportunities  as  a  nation-wide  rep- 
resentative of  my  union  would  offer  a  corre- 
spondingly larger  field  for  witnessing  for 
Christ— that  travelling  all  over  the  United 
States  and  Canada  I  should  be  able,  in  a  way 
hitherto  impossible  to  me,  to  tell  of  the  won- 
derful love  of  Jesus.  To  my  shame  and  hu- 
miliation, however,  I  have  to  confess  that  I 
never  attempted  to  follow  out  this  laudable 
idea.  I  accepted  the  post,  began  to  travel, 
began  to  sin,  began  again  to  drink,  and, 
finally,  utterly  lost  myself — a  wretched,  power- 
less victim  in  the  hands  of  the  remorseless 
demon  drink.'*  Then  like  an  unloosed  gar- 
ment everything  in  life  fell  away  from  Carl- 
ton Park — home,  kindred,  position,  friends, 
character,  desire  to  live.  And  the  wretched 
culmination  of  it  all  was  that  gas-filled  bed- 
room in  eastern  Pennsylvania. 

Three  days  later,  when  in  a  measure 
recovered  from  his  miserable  effort  at  self- 
destruction,  Carlton  Park  came  to  New  York, 
and  to  Water  Street.  Shaken  in  health, 
broken  in  spirit,  he  sat  in  the  old  Mission 


Saved  to  Serve  91 

brooding  deeply  on  what  he  had  done  ;  of 
what  he  was  doing ;  of  what  he  might  have 
been  ;  of  what  he  was.  He  Hstened,  as  hun- 
dreds of  other  wrecks  had  done,  to  the  songs 
and  testimonies  which  flung  his  memory 
back  to  the  days  when  he,  Park,  had  also  a 
testimony  for  God.  "  As  I  entered  the  room 
that  night,"  he  says,  "  the  very  first  thing  on 
which  my  eye  lighted  was  a  wall-motto  which 
read — No  Compromise  with  Sin.  In  a  flash, 
as  never  before,  that  sentence,  framed  into  a 
motto  on  a  mission  wall,  showed  me  the  real 
cause  of  my  life-failure.  I  had  compromised 
with  evil  of  every  kind,  and  the  result  had 
been — ruin.  Listening  to  the  voice  of  ambi- 
tion, I  had  crowded  Jesus  Christ  out  of  my 
life." 

As  the  service  wore  along  God^s  spirit 
strove  mightily  with  this  renegade  heart  and 
led  him  into  the  valley  of  decision.  At  its 
conclusion  Park  knelt  with  others  at  the  old 
bench  so  often  wet  with  penitential  tears. 
In  contriteness  of  spirit  he  prayed  to  the 
Christ  he  had  denied — betrayed — for  pardon 
and  peace.     He  rose  from  his  knees  with  no 


92  Saved  to  Serve 

larger  circle  of  acquaintance  in  New  York 
than  when  he  knelt  down.  Yet  a  whole  host 
of  conquering  forces  seemed  to  'have  ranged 
themselves  on  his  side.  He  was  once  more 
allied  to  the  overcoming  Christ. 

Nervous  and  broken  from  his '  long  de- 
bauch, unable  either  to  eat  or  retain  solid 
food,  the  new  convert  left  the  Mission  that 
night,  fit  only  for  a  hospital  ward.  Even  at 
that,  however,  he  has  stated  that  a  new 
strength  and  force  were  within  him  that 
made  for  ultimate  victory.  **It  sounds  in- 
credible of  course  to  unbelieving  ears,"  he 
says,  "  but  to  a  thoroughly  weakened  mind, 
and  well-nigh  shattered  body,  Jesus,  the  con- 
quering Christ,  gave  immediate  and  suf^cient 
grace  to  start  me  with  my  face  towards  re- 
habilitation and  righteous  living.  From  that 
very  hour  God  began  a  work  of  grace  in  my 
soul  which  He  will  one  day  finish  in  the 
presence  of  the  world's  redeemed.'^ 

Then  came  the  leading  of  the  Divine  Hand. 
Mr.  Park  was  invited  by  the  superintendent 
to  spend  the  next  morning  at  the  Mission  in 
order  to  get  his  nerves  settled  somewhat  and 


CABLTOX  PARK. 


Saved  to  Serve  93 

his  mind  into  something  hke  normal  shape. 
While  thus  engaged  he  picked  up  a  morning 
paper  and  saw  an  advertisement  which  called 
for  services  such  as  he  felt,  even  in  his  weak- 
ened condition,  he  might  render.  "In  less 
than  an  hour  I  was  working,"  he  said  in  re- 
lating the  circumstance.  "  It  was  not  much 
of  a  job,  certainly,  but  still,  it  was  just  the 
medicine  that  both  mind  and  body  needed." 
And  Park  "went  to  it,"  like  a  man.  God 
blessed  him,  enabled  him  to  win  out  over  old 
habits,  to  hold  inviolate  his  new  covenant 
with  his  Saviour,  and  to  rise  from  job  to  job, 
until  to-day  he  holds  a  position  of  trust  and 
responsibility  with  a  large  commercial  con- 
cern in  New  York. 

Carlton  Park  has,  from  the  very  commence- 
ment of  his  association  with  Water  Street, 
given  the  finest  sort  of  indications  that  he 
had  been  saved  to  serve.  Earnest,  devoted, 
sympathetic  with  distress  and  misfortune, 
tolerant  with  erring  humanity,  he  has  dis- 
played all  along  the  earmarks  of  a  rescue 
mission  worker.  And  men  of  this  order  are 
almost  as  rare  as  men  of  great  genius.     It 


94  Saved  to  Serve 

looks  pretty  easy,  from  outside,  to  superin- 
tend a  rescue  mission.  Yet  the  very  reverse 
is  the  case.  It  is  not  so  much  a  question  of 
ability  as  fitness.  The  strain  on  a  man's 
patience, — his  long-suffering, — is  continual, 
appalling ;  and  not  one  in  a  thousand,  even 
among  the  ranks  of  thoroughly  consecrated 
men  and  women,  are,  or  would  be,  equal  to 
the  task. 

Carlton  Park,  however,  is  one  that  happily 
is;  and  since  April,  191 1,  he  has  been  in 
charge  of  a  rescue  work  in  the  down-town 
district  of  Brooklyn — the  Kent  Avenue  Mis- 
sion. It  is  a  rough,  uninviting  quarter  of 
the  city  in  which  Carlton  Park  is  labouring, 
but  God  has  blessed  him  and  continues  to 
bless  him  in  his  work  of  peace  and  labour  of 
love.  Meetings  are  held  every  night  in  the 
week — every  day  in  the  year,  and  through  the 
consecrated  ministry  of  this  man,  who  but  a 
little  more  than  two  years  ago  essayed  to 
fling  himself  unbidden  into  the  presence  of 
his  Maker,  wrecked  lives  are  making  har- 
bour, broken  hearts  are  being  healed.  Mr. 
Park  is  not  a  salaried  mission  worker.     Kent 


Saved  to  Serve  95 

Avenue  knows  him  only  in  his  spare  time. 
And  if  any  friend  knows  of  a  finer  instance 
of  devotion  to  the  service  of  storm-tossed 
humanity  than  this  busy  man  of  affairs, 
hurrying  to  his  charge  after  the  thousand 
and  one  worries  incidental  to  a  New  York 
business  day,  I,  for  one,  should  be  glad  to 
have  it  indicated.  Mr.  Park  has,  of  course, 
had  restored  to  him  both  the  love  and  loving 
association  of  his  wife  and  children — and 
furnishes  as  signal  an  instance  as  may  be 
found  anywhere  of  the  power  of  the  Cross 
to  save  and  keep.  Moreover,  he  has  been 
saved  to  serve. 


VII 

SONS  OF  ISHMAEL 

"And  these  are    .    .    .    the  sons  of  Ishmael." 

— Gen.  XXV.  /j. 

THE  specific  work  of  the  McAuIey 
Mission  is,  of  course,  the  rescue  and 
reclamation  of  drunkards.  Yet  it 
does  not  finish  there.  Men,  who  have  erred 
and  lost  their  way  by  contracting  and  foster- 
ing pernicious  habits  other  than  a  love  of 
liquor,  seek  the  friendly  shelter  they  instinc- 
tively feel  awaits  them  in  Water  Street. 
And  none  are  denied. 

"  The  drunkard  may  come,  the  swearer  may  come, 
Backsliders  and  sinners  are  all  welcome  home." 

To  be  cordially  received  in  Water  Street, 
there  is  but  one  qualification  necessary — that 
a  man,  feeling  himself  a  sinner,  is  seeking  a 
Saviour.  In  this  chapter  is  recounted  the 
story  of  one  who  found  peace  and  pardon  in 
Water  Street,  whose  drinking  habits  were, 
96 


Sons  of  Ishmael  97 

possibly,  the  least  of  his  offenses.  A  few 
years  back,  he  was  regarded  by  the  police  of 
New  York  City  as  one  of  the  "slickest'*  cus- 
tomers they  had  to  cope  with — a  deft,  dan- 
gerous thief.  He  was  an  adept  at  covering 
his  tracks,  and  for  many  crimes  of  which  he 
was  guilty,  he  went  unpunished.  For  others 
he  had  to  bear  the  brunt.  His  name  will 
not  be  given  here — nor  yet  his  portrait — for 
reasons  perfectly  obvious.  Yet  his  story  is 
vouched  for  in  every  particular  and  he,  him- 
self, is  known  and  loved  by  all  the  folks  in 
Water  Street. 

He  commenced  life  as  a  telegraph  opera- 
tor, and,  almost  immediately,  became  a  thief. 
Having  to  receive  and  transmit  race-news, 
he  caught  what  he  calls  the  "  betting  fever," 
and,  to  cover  his  losses,  began  to  borrow 
money  from  the  ofifice  cash.  One  day  he 
realized  that  it  was  impossible  to  hide  his  de- 
falcations any  longer ;  and  concluding  that 
he  might  just  as  well  be  hanged  for  a  sheep 
as  a  lamb,  he  absconded  with  all  the  office 
money  he  could  lay  his  hands  on.  He  was  ap- 
prehended four  months  afterwards,  and  sent 


98  Sons  of  Ishmael 

to  a  state  reformatory  in  June,  1885.  Paroled 
in  June,  1886,  he  strove  for  some  little  time  to 
lead  an  honest  life.  Circumstances  were,  how- 
ever, against  him,  and  his  criminal  tenden- 
cies led  him  still  further  along  the  downward 
road.  "  The  whole  world  owes  me  a  living," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  and  I'll  make  it  '  cough 
up.' '' 

Putting  this  theory  of  brigandage  into  prac- 
tice, he  swooped  down  on  a  Wall  Street  bank 
and  stole  from  the  teller's  window,  in  broad 
daylight,  the  sum  of  twenty  thousand  dollars. 
Betrayed  by  a  confederate,  he  was  arrested 
three  weeks  later  and  sent  back  to  the  reform- 
atory to  serve  out  his  unexpired  term  of  five 
years.  On  his  release  in  1890,  he  at  once  re- 
sumed his  nefarious  role  of  professional  thief, 
and  engaged  in  a  series  of  diamond  robberies. 
Caught  red-handed  on  one  of  his  expeditions, 
he  was  sent  to  Sing  Sing  for  five  years. 
While  serving  out  his  sentence  he  was  made 
shipping  clerk.  "When  the  prison  indus- 
tries were  discontinued  in  1893,"  he  says,  "  I 
was  found  to  be  thousands  of  dollars  short 
in  my  stock.     There  was  no  trace  of  where 


Sons  of  Ishmael  99 

the  stuff  had  gone  to,  though,  so  I  escaped 
punishment.  But  the  warden  said  to  me 
one  day :  *  The  only  reason  you  haven't 
shipped  away  the  whole  prison,  I  suppose, 
is  because  you  couldn't  get  it  into  a  packing- 
case.'  " 

On  the  expiration  of  this  sentence  he  man- 
aged to  steer  clear  of  arrest  for  more  than  a 
year,  although  thieving  systematically  the 
whole  time.  Eventually  he  was  sent  back  to 
the  penitentiary  for  robbing  a  jewelry  store, 
and,  on  again  regaining  his  liberty,  committed 
a  burglary  which  landed  him  there  again — this 
time  for  four  years  and  six  months.  In  addi- 
tion, he  was  brought  under  the  provisions  of 
the  Habitual  Criminals  Act,  which  meant 
that  his  next  offense  would  entail  imprison- 
ment for  life.  Declared  to  be  incorrigible 
by  the  Sing  Sing  officials,  he  was  drafted  to 
Damemora.  While  there  his  health  failed 
and  he  began  to  be  haunted  by  the  probabil- 
ity of  his  dying  a  convict's  death.  Under 
the  nervous  strain,  this  poor  wretched  crimi- 
nal became  something  almost  worse — a  drug 
fiend.     Cocaine  and  morphine  were  easy  to 


loo  Sons  of  Ishmael 

obtain  in  Damemora,  when  one  knew  how, 
and  a  year's  vicious  indulgence  converted  the 
erstwhile  hardy  criminal  into  a  mental  and 
physical  wreck. 

Coming  out  into  the  world  again,  he  ex- 
perienced all  the  horrors  of  that  awful  strug- 
gle awaiting  any  victim  of  the  cocaine  habit 
who  endeavours  to  "  break  away."  Then  it 
was  that  the  poor  wreck  turned  to  drink — 
fiery,  ardent  spirits — in  order  to  quench  the 
undying  craving  for  drugs.  For  seven 
months  the  struggle  lasted,  and  at  the  end  of 
it,  the  drug  fiend  had  become  a  drunkard. 
Instead  of  cocaine,  he  wanted  whiskey — 
wanted  it,  and  craved  for  it,  more  than  for 
anything  else  on  earth.  What  a  life !  What  a 
record,  for  a  man  barely  arrived  at  middle  age  ! 

Then  one  day  in  the  old  Jerry  McAuley 
Mission  he  saw  the  light  that  Saul  of  Tarsus 
saw  on  the  Damascus  road,  and  heard  the 
voice  that  said,  **  I  am  Jesus"  ;  and  the  grap- 
ple began.  For  the  next  three  or  four  years 
he  lived  right  on  the  line  of  battle,  striving 
to  put  up  a  stiff  fight,  wounded  desperately, 
smitten  and  going  down,  starting  to  his  feet 


Sons  of  Ishmael  loi 

again,  facing  the  enemies  of  his  soul  in  an 
almost  heart-breaking  struggle  to  be  Christ's 
man.  Is  that  the  end  of  the  story  ?  Oh,  no  I 
In  the  plan  of  God's  mercy  there's  some- 
thing better  than  defeat  for  a  man  like  that. 
He  stopped  his  hopeless,  futile  fightings,  and 
placed  himself  behind  the  shield  of  the  Con- 
queror. He  has  realized  that  if  victory  is  to 
crown  his  life,  it  will  be  through  the  power 
and  virtue  of  Another.  Thus  this  one-time 
hardened  criminal,  drug  fiend  and  drunkard, 
has  found  peace.  The  life  he  now  lives 
is  beyond  and  above  reproach.  Almost 
nightly  he  is  to  be  found  testifying  to  the 
saving  and  keeping  power  of  Jesus  Christ. 
And  not  only  have  the  old  habits  passed  out 
of  his  life  forever,  but  the  indwelling  Spirit  of 
the  Most  High  has  mellowed  and  subdued 
his  nature  ;  so  that  not  a  trace  of  the  bitter 
cynicism  consequent  on  fifteen  years'  en- 
forced captivity  remains.  He  stands  to-day 
a  trophy  of  pardoning  Love.  What  think 
ye  ?     **  Is  anything  too  hard  for  the  Lord  ?  " 

Here  is  another  story — a    darker  record 


102  Sons  of  Ishmael 

even  than  the  one  just  given — told  by  a  man 
whose  life  has  been  so  marvellously  trans- 
formed that  one  can  scarcely  imagine  him 
as  ever  having  had  sufficient  lawlessness  in 
him  to  steal  ten  cents.  His  conversion  is  a 
remarkable  instance  of  how  Redeeming  Love, 
operative  in  the  life  of  a  sinner,  can  renew 
and  cleanse  the  worst  natures.  For  more 
than  four  years  he  has  been  engaged  in  active 
Christian  work,  and  many  souls  have  been 
brought  to  God  by  and  through  his  ministry. 
Read  his  story. 

"  I  was  born  and  raised  in  this  city.  My 
father  owned  and  ran  a  saloon  over  on 
Washington  Street  for  thirty-five  years.  I  be- 
gan to  steal  before  I  was  ten  years  old.  I 
may  never  tell  this  story  in  detail  again,  but  I 
want  to  tell  it  here  so  that  you  may  see  out  of 
what  a  deep  pit  God  has  brought  me.  It  is 
not  a  pleasant  story  to  relate,  but  I  do  it  in 
order  to  show  you  how,  if  a  man  will  trust 
Jesus,  He  will  bring  him  out  of  darkness  into 
light. 

"  I  started  my  life  of  crime  by  tapping  tills. 
From  that  I  passed  to  snatching  pocketbooks 


Sons  of  Ishmael  103 

from  people  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Desbrosses 
Street  Ferry.  My  own  people  knew  what  I 
was,  and  it  cost  them  hundreds  of  dollars  to 
keep  me  out  of  trouble.  When  my  father 
died,  he  left  me  several  thousand  dollars. 
After  getting  the  money  I  started  for  the 
West,  after  going  from  here  to  Philadelphia. 
In  the  state  of  Pennsylvania  I  started  out 
on  a  criminal  career  that  cost  me  many  years 
in  prison.  I  robbed  a  post-office  in  that 
state,  was  arrested,  but  acquitted,  although  it 
cost  me  eight  hundred  dollars  to  get  out  of 
that  scrape.  I  then  went  to  California,  and 
was  not  there  long  before  I  was  arrested  on  a 
charge  of  highway  robbery,  convicted,  and 
sentenced  to  San  Quentin  prison.  After  serv- 
ing my  sentence  I  had  to  leave  the  state  at 
once,  as  there  were  sufficient  charges  against 
me  to  send  me  *  up '  for  life. 

**  I  went  next  to  the  state  of  Oregon,  there 
to  continue  the  highway  business,  but  had  to 
get  out  again  pretty  quickly.  Next  I  drifted 
into  Montana.  There  I  was  arrested  for 
highway  robbery,  and  sentenced  to  five  years 
in  Dear  Lodge  Penitentiary.     Upon  my  re- 


104  Sons  of  Ishmael 

lease  from  that  prison  I  went  into  the  state 
of  Washington,  and  in  the  city  of  Tacoma 
was  arrested  on  several  charges  of  burglary 
and  highway  robbery.  I  escaped  from  jail, 
however,  and  turned  all  hands  loose  with  me. 
I  then  went  to  Seattle,  and  from  there  to 
Olympia.  Here  I  was  arrested  for  robbing  a 
Jap,  but  once  again  escaped  from  jail  tak- 
ing all  the  other  prisoners  with  me. 

"I  then  went  back  to  Seattle  and  was  again 
arrested  on  two  charges  of  highway  robbery, 
but  managed  to  get  away.  I  went  back  to 
try  and  get  my  pals  away  from  the  officers, 
but  was  caught.  While  in  jail  awaiting  trial, 
we  nearly  managed  to  escape  again  by  tun- 
nelling our  way  out,  and  would  have  suc- 
ceeded but  for  a  Federal  prisoner  who 
*  squealed  *  on  us.  I  was  sent  to  Walla 
Walla  Prison  for  seven  years. 

"  While  in  Walla  Walla  I  plotted  to  escape. 
I  bribed  a  man  to  bring  in  a  couple  of  guns. 
In  this  prison  the  convicts  work  in  a  brick- 
yard ;  and  we  had  it  all  arranged  to  grab  the 
warden  and  throw  him  on  an  engine  that 
came  into  the  yard,  and  in  that  way  escape, 


Sons  of  Ishmael  1 05 

as  one  of  my  pals  said  he  knew  how  to  run 
an  engine.  When  we  got  on  the  engine, 
however,  instead  of  running  out  of  the  yard 
he  ran  the  engine  further  into  the  prison 
yard,  and  both  my  pals  were  shot  dead  by 
my  side.  They  caught  me  and  gave  me 
eighteen  months  in  solitary  confinement,  and 
for  the  first  twenty  days  I  received  scarcely 
any  water  to  drink  or  bread  to  eat.  At  the 
time  of  my  release  I  was  nearly  dead,  and 
they  took  me  down  to  the  train  and  sent  me 
out  of  the  state  into  Oregon ;  but  I  came 
back  to  Washington  in  a  few  weeks. 

"  About  this  time  my  partners  and  myself 
planned  to  hold  up  a  train,  but  the  job  was 
bungled.  I  stationed  my  partners  at  the 
entrance  to  the  cars  while  I  went  through  the 
train  and  collected  the  money  and  valuables. 
While  I  was  busy  in  the  car,  however,  my 
partners  got  *  cold  feet,'  and  deserted  me,  and 
matters  got  so  hot  for  me  that  I  had  to  drop 
the  bag  and  run.  Bullets  were  flying  all 
around  me,  but  I  managed  to  escape  without 
injury.  A  short  while  after  this,  I  blew  open 
a  safe  in  a  little  town  just  outside  of  Spokane 


1  o6  Sons  of  Ishmael 

Falls.  Two  weeks  later  myself  and  pals  were 
arrested  and  some  of  the  goods  found  on  me. 
My  pals  turned  state's  evidence,  and  got  two 
years  in  prison.  I  stood  trial,  *  beat '  the 
case  and  was  acquitted. 

"  I  next  went  to  Butte  City,  Montana,  and 
after  committing  many  crimes  in  that  state, 
without  being  caught,  returned  to  Washing- 
ton. I  managed  to  get  arrested  about  eight 
miles  from  Spokane  Falls  for  burglary.  I 
was  tried,  convicted  and  sentenced  once  more 
to  prison — this  time  for  two  years. 

"After  the  expiration  of  this  sentence  I  came 
back  to  New  York  City,  and  for  many  years 
continued  thieving  over  on  the  West  Side. 
One  day  I  went  into  the  office  of  a  business 
man.  He  was  alone,  and  I  robbed  him  of 
all  the  money  he  had — something  like  two 
thousand  dollars.  Often,  since  I  have  given 
my  heart  to  God,  that  man's  face  has  come 
back  to  me  and  I  can  see  the  awful  look  on 
it  as  I  held  a  revolver  to  his  head  and  took 
his  money. 

**  Shortly  after  this  transpired  I  met  an  old 
thief  who  knew  me  and  my  career.     I  told 


Sons  of  Ishmael  107 

him  I  was  sick  and  tired  of  a  life  of  crime, 
and  he  told  me  about  the  McAuley  Mission, 
and  advised  me  to  come  down  and  see  Mr. 
Hadley.  I  didn't  go  for  about  five  days 
after  he  told  me,  but  at  last  I  wandered  in 
one  evening,  and  asked  for  Mr.  Hadley. 
The  janitor  went  up  and  told  Mr.  Hadley 
that  there  was  a  man  down-stairs  that  wanted 
to  speak  to  him.  It  was  just  before  the 
evening  meeting,  and  soon  Mr.  Hadley  came 
down,  and  spoke  to  me.  He  asked  me  how 
I  felt  and  I  told  him,  and  he  spoke  encourag- 
ingly to  me,  and  asked  me  if  I  intended  to 
take  Jesus  for  my  Saviour  that  night,  and  I 
said  I  would  if  I  died  in  the  street  that  night. 
Jesus  came  into  my  life  that  night,  and  the 
past  two  years  have  been  full  of  happiness 
and  sunshine,  and  I  intend  to  continue  in 
God's  work  to  the  end.  Until  seven  years 
ago  I  never  knew  what  a  Christian  life  meant, 
nor  had  I  ever  given  a  thought  to  sweetness 
or  goodness  as  far  as  I  can  remember.  *  But 
thanks  be  to  God  who  giveth  us  the  vic- 
tory through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ'  my 
life  which  once  was  entirely  taken  up  with 


lo8  Sons  of  Ishmael 

scheming  how  to  rob  people  is  now  devoted 
to  the  work  of  trying  to  save  them.  As  long 
as  I  have  breath  I  mean  to  cling  to  Jesus, 
and  I  know  that  He  will  keep  me  to  the 
end."  Behold  what  God  hath  wrought  with 
these  and  many  more  like  them  whose  crim- 
inal records  could  be  related  ! 

Sons  of  Ishmael  I  For  the  greater  part  of 
their  lives  at  war  with  society — with  hands 
against  all  mankind,  but  now  stretching  them 
out  in  love  and  helpfulness.  Once  aliens 
and  strangers,  to-day,  of  the  household  of 
Faith. 


VIII 

THE  PORTION  OF  MANASSEH 

"  Which  took  Manasseh  among  the  thorns  and  bound  him 
with  fetters.  .  .  .  And  when  he  was  in  affliction  he  be- 
sought the  Lord  his  God,  and  humbled  himself  greatly  before 
the  God  of  his  fathers  and  prayed  unto  Him ;  and  He  brought 
him  again  .  .  .  into  his  kingdom.  Then  Manasseh 
knew  that  the  Lord  He  was  God." — 2  Chron.  xxxiii.  12,  ij, 

OF  Alec  Russell,  the  story  of  whose 
fall  from  grace  and  ultimate  restora- 
tion through  the  ministry  of  "  Water 
Street  *'  is  here  recorded,  the  superintendent 
says  :  "  His  was  such  a  disheartening  case 
that  we  almost  gave  up  hope  of  his  ever  mak- 
ing a  permanent  stand  for  Jesus  Christ.  He 
had  a  terrible  experience  in  trying  to  cut 
loose  from  the  devil.  He  first  came  to  Water 
Street  about  six  years  ago,  and  for  a  long 
time  was  first  up  and  then  down.  We  never 
gave  him  up,  however,  and  I  felt  certain  that 
the  time  would  come  when  he  would  make  a 

full  surrender.     And  it  rejoices  my  heart  to 
109 


1 1  o  The  Portion  of  Manasseh 

know  that  the  time  finally  came  when  he 
committed  his  ways  to  Christ,  and  his  rebel- 
lion and  backsliding  ceased." 

"I  was  born  and  brought  up  in  Bonnie 
Scotland,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  "  in  a  godly  home 
where  father,  mother,  brothers  and  sisters 
were  all  active  Christians.  There  I  early 
heard  the  old,  old  story  of  Jesus  and  His  love, 
and  when  quite  a  boy,  gave  my  heart  to  the 
Saviour  and  for  years  loved  and  served  Him. 
I  soon  began  to  take  an  active  part  in  gospel 
work,  and  it  was  the  joy  of  my  life  for  a  long 
time  to  preach  the  Gospel.  I  had  always 
been  a  total  abstainer  and  if  any  one  had 
suggested  to  my  friends  or  family  the  pos- 
sibility of  my  ever  becoming  a  drunkard, 
they  would  have  been  laughed  at.  But  how 
needful  the  exhortation,  *  Let  him  that 
standeth  take  heed  lest  he  fall.'  Tis  often 
the  most  unlikely  that  the  devil  brings 
down. 

"  I  can  well  remember  in  those  happy  days 
a  business  friend,  who  having  been  a  notori- 
ous drunkard  and  brought  to  God  through 
reading  the  life  of  Jerry  McAuley,  bringing 


ALEXANDER  RUSSELL. 


The  Portion  of  Manasseh  1 1 1 

the  book  to  me  to  read,  and  how  my  soul  was 
stirred  as  I  read  of  the  wonderful  things  God 
was  doing  in  Water  Street.  Little  did  I 
dream  then  that  the  time  would  come  when, 
as  a  poor  helpless  drunkard,  I  should  cross 
the  threshold  of  that  Mission.  During  a  very 
serious  illness  I  was  induced  to  take  wine  as 
a  tonic.  In  my  physical  weakness  the  stimu- 
lating effect  appealed  to  me  and  bit  by  bit 
(unconsciously  at  first)  the  awful  craving  got 
possession  of  me,  until  I  lost  business  and 
everything  worth  having  in  this  world.  Four 
years  ago,  leaving  behind  a  loving  Christian 
wife  and  three  bairns,  I  set  sail  for  New  York, 
full  of  ambition,  and  with  good  prospects  of 
soon  making  a  home  for  them.  But  alas,  I 
soon  began  to  nibble  at  a  glass  of  beer,  then 
beer  was  not  strong  enough.  I  wanted 
*  good '  Scotch  whiskey. 

"  He  who  plays  with  sin  will  soon  find  out 
that  sin  will  not  play  with  him.  It  will  hold 
and  hurt.  I  realized  this  to  my  sorrow  when 
the  time  came  in  my  Hfe  when  I  loved  whiskey 
better  than  the  dearest  friend  on  earth.  I  did 
not  love  the  saloon  but  I  would  take  the  drink 


112  The  Portion  of  Manasseh 

into  my  room  and  saturate  myself  with  it 
At  this  time  it  was  my  good  fortune  to  meet 
with  Dr.  Edgar  W.  Work,  of  the  Fourth 
Presbyterian  Church,  who  later  became  my 
pastor.  He  helped  me  in  many  ways  and 
for  over  eighteen  months  stuck  to  me  and 
refused  to  give  me  up,  though  several  times 
I  told  him  to  let  me  go  as  I  was  not  worth 
saving.  He  held  on,  however,  until  he  saw 
me  saved  and  sober,  and  a  member  of  his 
church.  The  debt  I  owe  him  and  the  deacons 
and  members  of  his  church  for  the  way  they 
helped  me  I  can  never  repay. 

"  I  believe  it  was  the  Holy  Spirit  that 
brought  to  my  mind  the  reading  of  the  *  Life 
of  Jerry  McAuley,'  about  sixteen  years  be- 
fore, and  I  paid  a  visit  to  his  old  Mission. 
There  I  heard  many  testimonies  of  the  men 
as  to  the  saving  power  of  Christ.  I  went 
forward  when  the  invitation  was  given  and 
asked  God  to  save  me.  I  meant  to  do  what 
was  right,  but  I  was  weak,  and  I  am  afraid  I 
relied  too  much  upon  my  own  self.  I  fell 
time  and  time  again.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
devil  had  got  such  a  hold  upon  my  life  that 


The  Portion  of  Manasseh  1 1 3 

it  was  impossible  for  me  to  break  away,  but 
thank  God  the  friends  in  Water  Street  never 
give  a  man  up.  I  marvel  at  the  patience  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wyburn  with  me.  How  I 
longed  to  get  back  to  my  Saviour  and  to  the 
former  happy  days  of  Christian  life  ;  but  the 
devil  kept  telling  me  God  had  said  about  hie 
what  He  said  concerning  Ephraim  of  old, 
*  He  is  joined  to  his  idols,  let  him  alone.' 
I  kept  working  all  the  time,  but  I  was  willing 
to  go  hungry,  to  sleep  out  in  the  open,  to 
neglect  my  loved  ones — all  for  the  love  of 
whiskey.  I  was  fast  killing  myself  when  at 
last  on  March  30,  1909,  hopeless  and  helpless, 
on  the  verge  of  a  drunkard's  grave,  I  went 
up  to  the  mercy  seat  once  again  and  kneel- 
ing down,  held  up  the  white  flag  and  made 
an  unconditional  surrender  to  Jesus.  Praise 
His  name !  He  came  back  into  my  life,  cut 
the  cords  of  sin  that  bound  me,  and  re- 
stored unto  me  the  joy  of  salvation.  What 
marvellous  grace,  to  take  back  one  who 
had  known  His  love  yet  deserted  His 
cause,  and  to  reinstate  that  one  in  His  serv- 
ice I 


1 14  The  Portion  of  Manasseh 

**  *  O  Love  that  will  not  let  me  go, 
I  rest  my  weary  soul  in  Thee ; 
I  give  Thee  back  the  life  I  owe, 
That  in  Thine  ocean  depth  its  flow 
May  richer,  fuller  be.' 

"  To-day  with  all  my  soul  I  praise  God  for 
salvation  from  the  power  of  sin,  and  for  a 
Saviour  who  can  save  and  keep.  While  the 
old  sinful  life  is  gone  forever,  yet  its  effects 
are  still  felt  in  many  ways.  The  wound  is 
healed  but  the  scar  remains.  Words  fail  to 
express  my  gratitude  for  the  help  I  received 
at  Water  Street  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wyburn, 
Mrs.  Lamont,  as  well  as  all  the  converts. 

**  The  Mission  was  not  only  the  place  of  my 
redemption ;  it  was  also  my  home.  I  was 
permitted  to  enter  the  inner  circle  and  the 
home  up-stairs  was  thrown  open  to  me.  I 
think  my  dear  wife  never  could  have  stood 
the  strain  of  those  past  four  years,  but  for  the 
kindness  of  Mrs.  Wyburn  in  constantly  writ- 
ing her  across  the  water  cheering  her  on. 
At  last,  after  weary  days  of  waiting,  it  has 
pleased  God  to  open  up  the  way  for  me  to 
enter  the  ministry.  I  realize  full  well  how 
unworthy  I  am  of  such  an  honour,  but  with 


The  Portion  of  Manasseh  1 15 

God's  help  I  mean  to  do  my  best.  Out  here 
in  the  far  West  I  am  seeking  to  build  up 
three  new  churches,  scattered  over  thirty 
miles.  The  difficulties  are  great,  the  forces 
of  evil  are  numerous,  but  with  God  in  front 
we  shall  soon  leave  the  difficulties  far  in  the 
rear — transformed  into  memorials  of  victories. 
By  God's  grace  I  mean  to  devote  the  balance 
of  my  days  to  preaching  the  glorious  Gospel, 
and  to  win  souls  for  Christ." 

As  Mr.  Russell  has  indicated  in  the  fore- 
going testimony,  he  is  now  preaching  the 
Gospel  under  pretty  trying  circumstances, 
away  in  the  pioneer  town  of  Carter,  South 
Dakota.  He  is  a  licentiate  of  the  Congrega- 
tional Church.  The  difficulties  facing  him  are 
tremendous,  but  all  his  friends  are  sanguine 
that,  with  God's  help,  he  will  win  out.  He 
is  now  happily  reunited  to  his  family,  who  are 
with  him  out  in  Carter.  The  following  letter 
received  from  him  gives  a  vivid  account  of 
the  splendid  work  this  one-time  drunkard  is 
doing  out  in  the  far  West : 

**  The  subject  of  the  sermon  was  *  From 
the  East  to  the  West.'     I  thought  they  would 


1 16  The  Portion  of  Manasseh 

be  interested  to  hear  the  Easterner  compare 
east  and  west.  I  only  made  a  passing  refer- 
ence, and  then  proceeded,  quoting  from 
Psalm  ciii.  12,  *  As  far  as  the  east  is  from  the 
west,  so  far  hath  He  removed  our  transgres- 
sions from  us.'  The  people  all  seemed  to 
enjoy  it.  Then  I  addressed  the  Sunday- 
school.  Got  lunch.  Then  got  a  chance 
to  ride  part  of  the  way  to  Jordan  in  an 
automobile  and  walked  the  remaining  three 
miles,  and  then  I  spoke  to  a  Sunday-school, 
and  later  preached  here  again  to  a  most 
encouraging  turn-out.  I  got  a  lift  back  three 
miles  and  started  to  walk  the  remaining  six 
miles.  At  seven  o'clock  it  grew  dark  and  1 
lost  my  way.  For  over  an  hour  I  walked 
around  and  had  about  made  up  my  mind  to 
spend  the  night  on  the  prairie.  I  went  along 
singing,  *  Jesus,  Saviour,  Pilot  Me.'  Soon  I 
struck  a  house  and  was  directed  home.  Got 
back  tired  and  weary  at  eight-thirty.  The 
next  three  days  will  be  devoted  to  visiting, 
where  oftentimes  there  are  two  miles  be- 
tween the  houses.  Then  on  Friday  there 
is  that  thirty  mile  drive  again  to  preach  on 


The  Portion  of  Manasseh  1 1 7 

Sunday.     So  you  see  what  a  busy  life  I  am 
living. 

"As  usual  the  most  attractive  and  best 
lighted  up  places  are  the  saloons,  the  only 
places  that  the  men  have  to  sit  in.  So  I  am 
going  to  raise  money  to  heat  up  the  church, 
then  I  intend  to  open  it  every  night  as  a 
reading-room  and  to  make  it  a  social  centre. 
For  this  purpose  I  will  have  to  have  it  well 
heated  and  get  hold  of  some  old  magazines, 
song-books  and  a  few  games.  I  have  a 
little  organ  and  will  give  them  some  music. 
Then  I  am  going  to  find  out  the  men  who 
can  sing,  and  organize  a  male  choir.  I  am 
going  to  get  a  magic  lantern  and  give  them 
some  light  entertainments,  throwing  on  some 
gospel  pictures,  etc.  All  this  towards  getting 
them  to  attend  church  to  hear  the  Gospel. 
Now,  Brother  Wyburn,  you  can  help  me  by 
sending  me  fifty  or  one  hundred  reports  and 
old  magazines,  and  any  old  books  that  you 
have  no  use  for.  By  the  grace  of  God  I 
mean  to  do  things  out  here  for  Jesus  Christ. 
The  opportunity  of  my  life  is  before  me  and 
I  mean  to  seize  it,  and  by  God's  help  I  mean 


1 1 8  The  Portion  of  Manasseh 

to  hold  this  lonely  fort  for  Christ  and  His 
kingdom.     Pray — pray  for  me." 

That  is  a  brave,  manly  letter,  written  by  a 
man  who  is  determined  to  push  the  battle  to 
the  gate.  And  the  promises  of  God  are  for 
him.  *'  The  glory  of  this  latter  house  shall 
be  greater  than  that  of  the  former,  saith  the 
Lord  of  hosts  ;  and  in  this  place  will  I  give 
peace,  saith  the  Lord  of  hosts." 


IX 

"  OUT  OF  NAZARETH  " 

**  Can  there  any  good  thing  come  out  of  Nazareth  ?  " 

— John  i.  46. 

CHERRY  HILL,  once  a  pleasant  spot 
in  New  York  City  where  George 
Washington  resided,  is  to-day  a  sor- 
did Italian  colony.  It  positively  teems  with 
life,  part  of  which  may  be  seen  to  continually 
overflow  from  the  crowded  tenements  to 
door-step  and  pavement.  Foul  smells  and 
gentlemen  of  the  push-cart  fraternity  abound, 
while  unkempt  women  with  arms  akimbo 
chatter  ceaselessly  from  open  doorways. 
Children  there  are  aplenty ;  and  where  they 
play  about  in  the  wretchedly  paved  thor- 
oughfare puddles  of  foetid  water  are  com- 
mon, and  an  occasional  dead  cat  lies  bleach- 
ing in  the  sun.  It  is  not  an  attractive  or 
pleasant  neighbourhood,  but,  save  for  an  oc- 
casional shooting  affray  arising  out  of  some 
119 


1 20  "  Out  of  Nazareth  " 

gambling  squabble,  is  law  abiding  enough, 
and  occasions  the  police  but  little  trouble. 

It  was  a  very  different  story  thirty  years 
ago.  In  those  days  Cherry  Hill  earned  for 
itself  a  sinister  reputation  even  in  the  old 
fourth  ward — an  area  in  no  way  particular 
or  squeamish.  Strangers  rarely  ventured 
down  there ;  some  that  did  neglected  to  re- 
turn to  their  friends  and  were  never  seen  or 
heard  of  again.  The  inhabitants  were  almost 
exclusively  Irish — drunken,  lawless,  well-nigh 
ungovernable.  Old  Jerry  Sullivan,  who  for 
many  years  kept  a  shoe-repairing  store  in 
Water  Street,  has  told  many  a  dark  story  of 
what  happened  in  Cherry  Hill  in  those  bad 
old  days.  Jerry  was  a  County  Cork  man, 
and  maintained  that  for  years  the  "Hill" 
was  under  a  ban. 

**  'Twas  of  a  Sat'dy  night  years  ago,'^  he 
said  one  day,  as  he  sat  hammering  away  at  a 
shoe,  "  whin  the  Hill  had  had  a  dhrop  an' 
the  divil  was  in  'em  ;  an'  what  wid  the  singin' 
an'  the  dancin'  an'  ivery  wan  rushin'  up  and 
down  the  Hill  yellin',  why,  you  wouldn't 
b'lave  the  row !    Then  they  began  a-cussin' 


"  Out  of  Nazareth  "  121 

an'  a-fightin'  an'  the  blood  began  to  flow,  till 
some  wan,  afeerd  o'  murther,  run  for  the 
priest.  An'  shure  the  priest  he  come,  an'  he 
talks  to  'em,  an'  thritins  'em,  but  they 
wouldn't  heed.  So  thin  he  walks  the  length 
of  the  strate,  callin'  on  'em  to  remimber  the 
judgments  of  the  Almighty.  But  the  divils 
on'y  laughed  an'  swore  the  harder.  So  the 
priest — Gawd  help  us — whin  he  got  to  the 
top  ov  the  hill,  he  turns  round  and  looks 
down  it  an'  he  hears  the  min  an'  the  wimmen, 
aye,  an'  the  childher,  all  blasphemin'  an' 
cussin'."  Jerry  paused  a  moment  and 
crossed  himself.  "  Sure,  'twas  like  listenin' 
at  the  gates  of  hell  1  Thin  the  priest  o' 
Gawd  he  stretches  out  his  hand,  an'  sez  he, 
'May  the  curse  ov  the  Almighty  be  upon 
this  Hill,  for  'tis  the  wickedest  place  on 
earth.'  An'  bedad,  the  curse  stuck  to  Cherry 
Hill  till  the  Irish  all  cleared  out." 

Somewhere  around  forty  years  ago,  when 
the  neighbourhood  was  at  its  worst,  two  lads 
were  born  into  this  welter  of  lawlessness  and 
sin.  Both  grew  up  in  vice  and  ignorance ; 
both  subsequently  led   lives  of  superlative 


122  "  Out  of  Nazareth  " 

evil ;  both  are  now  Water  Street  converts ; 
both  are  rough-cut  diamonds — but  diamonds 
all  the  same.  Although  there  is  little,  if  any, 
difference  in  their  ages,  one  man  is  uncle  to 
the  other.  The  uncle — known  to  his  inti- 
mates as  "  Lucky  Baldwin  " — is  Chris  J.  Balf ; 
the  nephew,  William  H.  Johnstone — who  re- 
joices in  the  sobriquet  of  *'  Bull."  The  testi- 
mony of  each  man  is  allowed  to  appear  just 
as  he  himself  has  furnished  it,  in  the  belief 
that  those  who  may  read  the  following  chap- 
ter may  be  the  better  able  to  realize  what 
miracles  of  grace  these  two  men  are.  Chris 
Balf  came  to  the  Mission  in  a  dreadfully 
drunken  condition,  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  was  about.  But  God  sobered  and  saved 
him.     Here  is  his  own  story  : 

"  I  was  born  on  Cherry  Hill  about  thirty- 
seven  years  ago.  I  had  a  good  father  and 
mother,  but,  God  bless  them,  they  could  not 
do  anything  with  me.  At  that  time  this 
neighbourhood  was  known  all  over  the 
world  because  of  the  tough  gang  who  lived 
around  here,  and  I  was  one  of  them.  I 
would  not  go  to  school  or  do  anything  else 


"  Out  of  Nazareth  *'  1 23 

my  parents  wanted  me  to  do.  I  was  deter- 
mined to  have  my  own  way  and  please  my- 
self, so,  of  course,  I  turned  out  to  be  a  thief 
and  a  drunkard.  I  remember  the  McAuley 
Mission  years  ago,  and  I  along  with  others 
did  all  I  could  to  annoy  them  here  by  break- 
ing windows,  pulling  out  the  board,  and  try- 
ing to  break  up  the  meetings. 

**As  far  as  I  can  remember,  my  first 
*  drunk '  was  when  I  was  about  eleven 
years  of  age.  I  was  standing  in  Cherry 
Street  one  day,  with  some  boys  about  my 
own  age,  and  across  the  street  there  was  a 
brewery  wagon,  and  the  driver  was  bringing 
in  kegs  of  beer  into  a  store.  He  took  about 
twenty-five  small  kegs  off  from  the  wagon, 
and  laid  them  on  the  sidewalk,  for  a  man  to 
come  out  and  count  them.  After  the  bar- 
tender had  done  so,  the  driver  started  to  roll 
them  into  the  store,  and  when  he  had  rolled 
in  about  four  or  five,  the  thought  came  into 
my  mind  that  I  would  like  to  roll  one  into 
the  alley,  which  was  next  door.  It  was  no 
sooner  thought  than  done.  I  started  right 
over  to  take  one,  and  rolled  it  into  the  alley. 


1 24  "  Out  of  Nazareth  " 

When  the  driver  got  the  rest  of  them  in,  he 
got  up  onto  his  wagon  and  drove  away, 
never  missing  the  one  I  had  stolen.  My  pal 
and  I  started  to  cut,  and  bust  in  the  bung- 
hole  of  the  keg.  It  broke,  and  as  the  foam 
flew  up,  I  held  my  head  over  it  and  drank 
all  I  could.  By  this  time  a  few  of  the  other 
pals  had  got  a  can,  and  then  we  started  in 
to  do  as  we  had  seen  the  '  big  fellows '  do. 
That  is  the  first  time  that  I  remember  of  ever 
being  drunk. 

"  In  my  drunken  condition  my  brother 
took  me  home.  My  mother  laid  me  down 
on  the  sofa,  and  waited  for  my  father  to  come 
home  from  work.  When  he  came  he  told 
my  mother  that  he  would  let  her  take  charge 
of  me.  The  next  day  she  sure  did  take 
charge  of  me,  and,  standing  me  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  gave  me  all  that  was 
coming  to  me — and  a  little  that  should  have 
gone  to  my  brother.  But  I  got  up  that  night, 
and  cleared  out  and  for  three  months  my 
people  never  saw  me.  I  went  over  to  Jersey 
City,  and  got  on  a  barge  at  the  Morris  and 
Essex  Canal,  and  went  to  Port  Delaware.     I 


"  Out  of  Nazareth  "  1 25 

came  back  from  Delaware,  and  went  to  New- 
ark, N.  J. — with  a  thief.  I  stayed  in  Newark 
a  month,  then  came  back  to  New  York. 
Now  that  was  the  commencement  of  my 
downward  career.  I  then  got  in  with  a  street 
gang,  and  got  to  be  leader.  We  used  to 
steal  boxes  of  groceries,  tubs  of  butter,  etc., 
from  wagons,  and  buy  drinks  with  the  money 
we  received  from  selling  the  goods.  Being 
now  about  seventeen  years  old,  I  got  tired 
of  this  sort  of  life,  and  wanted  to  go  to  work. 
So  I  went  to  work  at  different  things,  trying 
everything,  but  could  not  bring  myself  to 
stay  anywhere.  I  was  arrested  several  times, 
but  my  poor  old  mother  would  always  get 
me  out,  and  I  tried  hard  to  reform.  My 
father  now  took  hold  of  me,  and  tried  to 
teach  me  a  trade,  but  I  would  not  stay  with 
him,  and  left.  I  roamed  around  on  the  streets 
a  while,  and  then  went  to  work  driving  a 
truck.  This  seemed  to  satisfy  me  for  a  time. 
But  I  spent  more  time  in  idleness  than  at 
work,  hanging  around  the  fourth  ward. 
Getting  tired  of  this,  I  turned  my  steps 
towards  the  Bowery,  where  for  twenty  long 


1 26  "  Out  of  Nazareth  " 

years  I  was  lost  to  home,  friends,  and  every 
one  that  was  dear,  and  there  led  a  life  that 
is  almost  indescribable. 

"  After  leading  this  kind  of  a  life  from  New 
York  to  San  Francisco,  I  came  back  one  day 
to  see  the  old  Bowery,  as  it  had  always  been 
*  Home  Sweet  Home '  to  me — I  had  made 
it  my  home  for  twenty  odd  years.  I  had 
spent  all  my  money.  Just  a  week  before  I 
had  held  a  man  up  and  took  thirty  dollars 
from  him,  but  that  was  all  gone  and  I  was 
sick.  I  was  talking  to  a  fellow  that  day  and 
you  can  imagine  my  surprise  when  he  asked 
me  to  go  to  the  old  McAuley  Mission  with 
him,  as  he  wanted  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee.  I 
looked  at  my  shoes  and  then  at  his  shins, 
but  I  was  too  weak  and  sick  to  do  what  was 
in  my  mind.  I  told  him  what  I  wanted  was 
whiskey,  not  cofiee.  Thank  God,  he  knew 
what  I  wanted  better  than  I  did.  This  man 
started  for  the  Mission  and  I  got  up  and  fol- 
lowed him.  Now,  although  I  was  born  and 
raised  around  the  neighbourhood,  I  never 
knew  they  gave  out  coffee  and  sandwiches 
there  in  that  Mission.     Some  of  my  people 


CHRISTOPHER    J.    BALF. 


"  Out  of  Nazareth  "  127 

were  in  business  not  far  from  the  Mission 
and  were  highly  respected,  but  I  never  went 
to  see  them.  I  went  in  the  Mission  that 
afternoon  and  got  the  coffee,  and  then  came 
back  again  at  night  to  the  service.  I  was 
drunk,  and  the  man  who  read  the  lesson  was 
deaf,  and  had  an  ear-instrument  like  a  box, 
which  he  placed  on  the  desk.  Seeing  this,  I 
said  to  a  fellow  near  me,  *  Go  up  there  and 
tell  that  guy  to  telephone  to  heaven  that  I 
am  coming.'  I  listened  to  the  testimonies 
and  yet  I  did  not  believe  them.  It  was  not 
that  I  wanted  to  be  bad,  but  I  knew  no  bet- 
ter. However,  when  Mr.  Wyburn  asked  all 
those  to  come  forward  who  wanted  to  lead 
a  better  life,  I  was  the  first  to  start.  When 
I  knelt  down  to  pray  I  almost  went  to  sleep 
on  my  knees.  Mr.  Wyburn  came  to  me  and 
asked  me  to  pray.  I  said,  *  I  don't  know 
how  to  pray.'  He  said,  *Pray  the  prayer 
of  the  publican.'  I  replied  that  I  was  no 
Republican  ;  I  was  a  Democrat.  You  see,  I 
was  so  ignorant  I  did  not  know.  Finally  I 
did  cry,  *  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner, 
for  Jesus'  sake/  and  the  tears  began  to  flow. 


128  "Out  of  Nazareth" 

I  had  not  shed  a  tear  since  I  was  a  Uttle  child, 
but  God  melted  my  heart.  He  heard  my 
prayer  that  night  and  I  have  never  wanted  a 
drink  of  whiskey  since,  and  better  still  He 
has  taken  away  all  those  sins  that  go  with  a 
drunkard's  life,  and  enables  me  to  live  a  true, 
honest  Christian  life. 

**  Five  or  six  weeks  after  my  conversion, 
Mr.  Thomas  Savage  Clay,  a  trustee  of  Water 
Street  Mission  (God  bless  him  !),  took  an  in- 
terest in  me  and  invited  me  to  go  with  him 
and  hear  Dr.  A.  F.  Schauffler  talk  to  Sunday- 
school  teachers.  I  had  never  read  the  Bible 
up  to  this  time,  but  I  heard  this  man  speak 
of  the  third  chapter  of  Acts.  I  went  down  to 
the  Mission  and  asked  for  a  Bible  and  had 
one  of  the  converts  find  this  chapter  for  me. 
I  took  the  Bible  and  read  every  word  of  that 
chapter  and  understood  it,  too.  Now  I  can 
read  any  part  of  the  Bible,  and  God  helps 
me  to  understand  what  it  means.  Oh,  how 
I  wish  I  could  impress  on  people  how  real 
this  new  life  is  to  me.  It  is  wonderful  that 
God  could  care  enough  for  me  to  stoop  down 
and  pick  me  up  out  of  the  mire  and  the  clay 


"  Out  of  Nazareth  '*  1 29 

and  place  my  feet  upon  the  solid  rock,  Christ 
Jesus.  God  has  blessed  my  testimony  and 
used  it  to  His  honour  and  glory.  For  the 
past  three  summers  I  have  had  the  pleasure 
of  attending  the  Students'  Conferences  and 
also  the  General  Conferences  of  Christian 
Workers  at  East  Northfield,  Mass.  I  can 
never  thank  God  enough  for  the  spiritual 
blessings  I  have  received  there.  I  have  also 
had  the  joy  of  giving  my  testimony  up  there 
to  the  saving  and  keeping  power  of  Jesus 
Christ.  I  shall  never  be  able  to  thank  God 
enough  for  having  led  me  to  the  old  Jerry 
McAuley  Mission,  316  Water  Street,  where  I 
found  the  way  out  of  my  trouble.  It  was 
there  Jesus  found  me.  He  reached  down  and 
brought  me  up  out  of  the  miry  clay,  and  out 
of  my  degradation,  and  cemented  my  feet  on 
the  solid  rock — there  to  stand  for  time  and 
eternity. 

"  It  was  there  I  also  first  met  the  best  friend 
I  have  on  earth — Mr.  T.  S.  Clay.  He  saw 
me  struggHng;  being  a  Christian  he  com- 
menced to  help  me  bear  my  burden,  and 
under  God  he  has  been  my  friend  ever  since. 


130  "  Out  of  Nazareth  " 

God  has  raised  up  many  friends  for  me.  It 
was  through  Mr.  Clay  and  Mr.  Wyburn  that 
I  was  sent  to  Northfield,  and  God  blessed  me 
there.  Now  I  am  studying  at  the  Moody 
Bible  Institute,  Chicago,  and  God  has  by  His 
Holy  Spirit  saved  many  a  poor  mother's  boy 
in  Chicago  through  my  efforts.  I  have 
tested  both  sides  of  life,  and  found  that  the 
Christian  life  is  the  only  one  to  lead  and  the 
only  life  in  which  a  man  can  have  true  satis- 
faction. Pray  for  me  that  I  may  remain 
steadfast  to  the  end.'' 

Like  uncle,  like  nephew.  The  same  crass 
ignorance  of  early  years ;  the  same  mis- 
guided youth  and  early  manhood  ;  the  same 
vicious  living  out  of  maturer  years.  And  both 
have  found  pardon,  restoration  and  peace  at 
the  same  precious  Cross-foot.  Chris  Balf  has 
told  his  story  and  here  is  Bull  John- 
stone's : 

*'  I  was  born  on  Cherry  Hill  right  behind 
the  McAuley  Mission.  On  the  day  I  first  saw 
daylight  the  whole  neighbourhood  was  up 
in  arms.  It  was  Orangemen's  Day,  and  the 
Irish  were  all  fighting  like  mad  so  I've  been 


"Out  of  Nazareth"  131 

told.  The  bringing-up  I  got  was  the  sort 
that  most  other  lads  got  there  in  those  days 
— being  left  to  yerself  to  do  as  you  liked.  I 
never  thought  of  God  for  a  minute,  and  re- 
ligion never  entered  my  mind.  I  grew  up  a 
big,  husky  sort  of  a  fellow,  good-natured  and 
easy-going.  There  were  two  things  that, 
from  the  days  when  I  was  quite  a  little  chap, 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  be — a  gambler  and  a 
professional  ball-player.  And  I  made  good, 
or  made  bad  (whichever  you  like  to  call  it)  at 
both. 

^^  *'  And  that  caused  me  to  start  in  with  the 
booze  quite  early.  Soft  drinks  didn't  cut 
any  ice  with  me.  I  thought  I  had  to  stand 
up  at  the  bar  and  drink  whiskey  to  be  a 
sport,  and  before  I  was  twenty  years  of  age 
I  could  swallow  it  down  to  beat  the  band.  I 
never  side-stepped  anything  in  the  way  of 
liquor  in  those  days.  As  I've  already  said, 
I  was  a  strong,  healthy  fellow,  and  getting  a 
jag  on  didn't  trouble  me  a  bit.  I  was  always 
fit  next  morning  and  ready  for  hitting  it  up 
again.  Well,  I  kept  on  going  round  with 
the  bunch,  and  that  soon  queered  my  ball- 


132  "  Out  of  Nazareth '' 

playing.  The  manager  told  me  this  was  a 
ball-team,  not  a  distillery,  and  that  he  hadn't 
any  notion  of  carrying  a  booze-fighter  around 
with  him.  So  whiskey  put  me  out  of  busi- 
ness as  a  player.  After  I  quit  as  member  of 
a  team  I  took  to  umpiring — that  is,  in  the 
summer;  in  the  winter  I  lived  by  gambling. 
I've  picked  up  a  tidy  chunk  of  easy  money 
in  my  time,  being  always  on  the  lookout  for 
lemons.  When  I  laid  hold  of  one  I  cleaned 
him  up  pretty  good.  Now  as  I  look  back 
on  such  mean,  miserable  ways  of  getting 
along  as  I  had,  it  makes  my  face  burn  with 
shame. 

**Well,  the  game  couldn't  go  on  forever. 
Fifteen  years  of  the  sort  of  life  that  I  led  had 
to  show  somewhere,  although  I  never  bar- 
gained for  it  at  the  time  ;  and  when  the  blow 
came  it  hit  me  pretty  hard.  I  contracted 
some  sort  of  complaint  that  settled  in  my 
joints  and  made  me  a  cripple.  Fd  struck  a 
hoodoo  for  fair.  No  dough,  friends  gone, 
health  bad,  completely  down  and  out.  But 
I  managed  to  keep  on  getting  whiskey.  I 
thought  perhaps  it  would  cure  me.     A  fellow 


"  Out  of  Nazareth  **  1 33 

can  nearly  always  get  ^/la^ — worse  luck — one 
way  or  another.  But  I  led  a  miserable  life 
for  years.  Then  about  two  and  a  half  years 
ago  I  came  back  to  New  York.  I  was  cer- 
tainly all  in,  and  didn't  care  much  whether 
I  lived  or  died. 

"  I  went  to  stay  for  a  while  with  an  aunt 
over  in  Brooklyn.  But  she  soon  got  tired  of 
having  me  around  (as  was  only  likely) ;  so 
she  told  me  to  get  a  hustle  on  me  and  look 
round  after  a  job.  I  couldn't  work,  so  I  went 
to  inquire  after  an  uncle  of  mine  named 
Chris  Balf — Lucky  Baldwin  he  was  best 
known  as — and  I  was  told  he  was  to  be  found 
at  the  McAuley  Mission.  You  could  have 
knocked  me  down  with  a  feather  when  I  heard 
that.  *  Lucky '  was  at  a  mission  ?  Well, 
that  beat  cock-fighting  I  A  saloon  or  a 
gambling  joint  had  always  been  more  in  his 
line.  Well,  I  went  after  him.  I  didn't  care 
where  I  found  him  so  long  as  I  could  separate 
him  from  a  dollar.  The  night  I  went  to  the 
Mission  Hall,  uncle  was  not  present.  I  was 
invited  to  stay  and  as  I'd  never  seen  or  heard 
anything  like  it,  I  consented.     I  want  to  tell 


1 34  "  Out  of  Nazareth  "  ' 

you  frankly  that  I  thought  the  whole  outfit 
was  a  fraud.  The  boys  who  testified  I  put 
down  in  my  own  mind  as  four-flushers.  You 
see  I  was  such  a  crooked,  no-good  sort  of 
guy  myself  I  thought  everybody  else  was  as 
bad.  I  never  gave  it  a  thought  that  these 
men  were  on  the  level.  So  thinking  Fd  got 
a  line  on  the  whole  bunch  I  went  away„ 

"  But  I  couldn't  rest.  The  wonderful 
stories  I  had  heard  kept  popping  up  in  my 
mind.  Could  they  be  true?  I  wondered. 
And  if  they  were,  what  about  my  chances  ? 
As  far  as  I  remember  now,  that  was  the 
way  I  began  to  try  to  figure  things  out. 
Well,  I  went  back  to  the  Mission — this  time 
to  listen  and  take  notice.  The  testimonies  I 
heard  had  the  right  ring  about  them.  I 
found  out  in  ten  minutes  that  I'd  doped  'em 
out  wrong  the  last  journey.  God  spoke  to 
me  through  those  men.  Thick,  ignorant, 
sinful  as  I  was,  I  felt  my  need  of  His  help 
and  pardon.  I  limped  up  to  the  mercy  seat 
and  "gave  my  heart  and  life  to  Jesus  Christ. 
What  He  has  done  for  me  since  that  happy 
hour  I  cannot  begin  to  tell.     First  of  all,  my 


"  Out  of  Nazareth  "  135 

ailment  has  had  proper  attention  so  that, 
with  all  the  rotten  booze  cut  out,  I'm  a  pretty 
good  healthy  fellow  again.  Yet  after  all 
that's  nothing  in  a  way  of  speaking.  Think 
of  the  way  He  has  cleaned  up  my  life  ! — of 
the  way  in  which  I  am  able  to  resist  tempta- 
tion and  remain  true  right  among  the  old 
gang.  I  know  I  can't  tell  the  story  as  I 
ought — Cherry  Hill's  to  blame  for  that.  But 
I  know,  thank  God,  what  I  feel — what  I 
know.  I'm  saved,  kept,  and  blessed  every 
hour  of  my  life  by  the  power  and  love  of 
God." 

"  Can  any  good  thing  come  out  of  Naza- 
reth?" So  ran  the  ancient  query,  and  the 
answer  was  a  transcendent  affirmative,  in- 
volving the  salvation  of  the  race.  And  out 
of  Cherry  Hill,  a  place  with  as  infamous  a 
reputation  as  that  which  clung  to  the  hillside 
city  of  Galilee,  have  come  two  magnificent 
trophies  of  the  power  of  pardoning  grace. 


X 

THE  BLOSSOMING  DESERT 

"  And  the  desert  shall  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose." 

— ha.  xxxvi.  i. 

ONE  striking  evidence  of  Rudyard 
Kipling's  wide  appeal  is  that,  when- 
ever half  a  dozen  men  begin  to  dis- 
cuss him,  almost  invariably  each  man  will 
voice  his  preference  for  a  different  story.  One 
will  declare  for  **  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy," 
another  for  "  They."  A  third  will  swear  by 
"  Love  O'  Women,"  a  fourth  by  "  The  Gate 
of  a  Hundred  Sorrows,"  or,  "  The  Man  Who 
Would  Be  King."  So  it  goes — each  to  his 
fancy.  I  am  reminded  of  the  final  story  in 
"  Plain  Tales— To  Be  Filed  for  Reference." 

Almost  everybody  will  recall  that  masterly 
study  of  an  English  'varsity  man,  gone  ut- 
terly to  the  dogs  in  India.  To  be  sure  it  is 
only  a  half-filled  sketch — a  little  better  than 

a  fragment — therein  lies  its  power.     I  have 
136 


The  Blossoming  Desert  137 

known,  intimately,  half  a  dozen  men  who 
might  well  have  sat  to  Kipling  for  his  Mcin- 
tosh Jellaludin — men  whose  tragic  stories 
spring  vividly  to  remembrance,  when  I  read 
such  passages  as  these  :  "He  was,  when 
sober,  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman.  When 
drunk,  he  was  rather  more  of  the  first  than 
the  second.  He  used  to  get  drunk  about 
once  a  week,  for  two  days.  On  these  occa- 
sions he  raved  in  all  tongues  except  his  own. 
One  day  he  began  reciting  *  Atalanta  in  Caly- 
don,'  and  went  through  it  to  the  end,  beat- 
ing time  to  the  swing  of  the  verse  with  a 
bedstead  leg.  ...  *  Man,'  said  he,  *  when 
you  have  reached  the  utter  depths  of  degra- 
dation, little  incidents  which  would  vex  a 
higher  life  are  to  you  of  no  consequence. 
Last  night  my  soul  was  among  the  gods ; 
but  I  make  no  doubt  that  my  body  was 
writhing  down  here  in  the  garbage.  .  .  . 
I  am  as  the  gods,  knowing  good  and  evil, 
but  untouched  by  either.  On  the  soul  which 
I  have  lost,  and  on  the  conscience  which  I 
have  killed,  I  tell  you  that  I  cantiot  feel — I 
who  am  the  son  of  a  man  with  whom  you 


138  The  Blossoming  Desert 

have  no  concern — I  who  was  once  fellow  of  a 
college,  whose  butter-hatch  you  have  not 
seen.'  .  .  .  His  voice  stopped  for  ten  or 
twelve  breaths  and  then  he  began  mumbling 
a  prayer  of  some  kind  in  Greek.  The  native 
woman  cried  very  bitterly.  Lastly,  he  rose 
in  bed  and  said,  as  loudly  as  slowly :  *  Not 
guilty,  my  Lord  T "  Perhaps  his  last  sen- 
tence in  life  told  what  Mcintosh  had  once 
gone  through.  Then  he  fell  back  and  the 
stupor  held  him  till  he  died.  The  story  of 
one  such  is  set  down  here. 

The  man  was  a  New  York  **  bum  " — one  of 
the  tragic  units  that  go  to  make  up  the  un- 
derworld of  the  Bowery,  the  bread-line  and 
the  ten-cent  "flop."  At  the  lodging-house 
to  which  (when  he  had  the  price)  he  ex- 
tended his  patronage,  he  passed  for  some- 
thing of  a  mystery.  None  of  his  fellow- 
lodgers  knew  anything  of  his  personal 
history,  and  the  man  himself  never  volun- 
teered to  meet  the  deficiency.  Concerning 
his  past,  he  was  as  close  as  a  clam.  Not 
even  when  thawed,  and  rendered  more  com- 
municative by  Nick  Solomon's    "  third-rail " 


The  Blossoming  Desert  1 39 

whiskey,  did  he  ever  abandon  his  reserve 
sufficiendy  to  discuss  his  antecedents,  or 
impart  any  information  as  to  whom  or  what 
he  had  been,  before  he  blew  down  to  the 
Bowery  and  Mulberry  Bend.  So  it  came 
about  that  the  absence  of  reliable  data, 
coupled  with  the  fact  that  their  mysterious 
associate  was  obviously  English,  well-edu- 
cated, and  (when  sober)  well-mannered,  dis- 
posed ■  the  boys  of  the  lodging-house  to 
endorse  the  conclusions  of  Brady  the  night- 
clerk — '*that  he'd  bet  anybody  ten  bucks 
the  fellow  was  one  o'  them  sky-hittin'  college 
guys,  gone  on  the  bum  I '' 

Mr.  Brady's  diagnosis  of  his  taciturn 
lodger's  social  status  was  perfectly  correct. 
He  was  a  "college  guy,"  and  one  gone, 
most  assuredly,  "on  the  bum.'*  Times  there 
were,  however,  in  circles  far  away  from  the 
Bowery,  when  the  seal  of  silence  would  be 
lifted,  and  the  story  of  a  hideous  past  re- 
tailed for  all  it  was  worth,  to  pry  open  the 
pocketbook  of  a  sympathetic  listener.  In 
out-of-the-way  corners  of  the  city  where 
men  "  whose  limbs  were  made  in  England  " 


140  The  Blossoming  Desert 

are  wont  to  foregather,  he  would  unload  the 
sordid  recital  which  foreran  a  touch.  When 
he  chanced  on  a  newcomer  he  would  open 
up  with  his  usual  formula.  "  Pardon  me,'* 
he  would  say,  "  but  I  fancy  you're  an  Oxford 
man.  .  .  .  Ah  I — thought  so.  Never 
rubs  off,  y'  know.  Baliol,  eh  ?  I'm  Maudlin." 
Then  would  follow  talk  of  Jowett  and  Christ- 
church  Meadows,  of  Bishop  Stubbs  and  Guy 
Nickalls,  of  Henley  and  Putney, — of  the 
thousand  and  one  things  dear  to,  and  never 
forgotten  by,  men  on  whom  the  spell  of  the 
fair  city  of  Oxford  has  been  laid.  Then 
would  come  the  shameful  story  of  shattered 
years.  Almost  invariably  he  would  get  what 
he  asked  for.  Then  back  to  a  Bowery  gin- 
mill  to  drink  up  the  proceeds  of  his  pan- 
handling crusade,  and  fall,  almost  insensi- 
ble, into  his  wretched  hammock  mumbling, 
"  God  for  Harry,  England  and  St.  George  ! " 
Yet  this  man,  in  other  respects  as  utterly 
fallen  as  Mcintosh  Jellaludin,  has,  through 
the  goodness  and  mercy  of  God,  been  saved 
that  outcast's  fearful  end.  And  the  story  he 
was   once   careful   to   screen   from   all   save 


The  Blossoming  Desert  141 

those  to  whom  he  chose  to  tell  it  he  has  now 
given,  broadcast,  to  the  world.  From  many 
a  pulpit  and  platform  in  this  fair  land  he  has 
told  it,  impelled  by  the  same  motive  as  with 
which  he  has  allowed  it  to  be  set  down  here 
— to  the  honour  and  glory  of  God. 

Richard  Hugh  Roberts  was  born  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman.  A  luxurious  home,  godly 
parents,  refined  surroundings  and  an  unsul- 
lied name  was  part  of  the  heritage  into  which, 
at  birth,  he  entered.  He  was  put  to  school 
at  Lismore  College,  Ireland,  the  principal  of 
which  being  a  family  friend.  His  early  de- 
sires, as  well  as  those  of  his  mother,  were  to 
enter  the  English  Church,  and  with  that  view 
he  proceeded  to  a  great  university.  When 
the  time  came  to  decide,  however,  he  elected 
to  prefer  another  profession  and  entered  the 
service  of  his  queen.  *'  Never,"  he  says, 
**  shall  I  forget  bidding  my  dear  old  mother 
good-bye.  How  faithfully  I  promised  to 
preserve  the  honour  of  the  old  name,  to  ab- 
stain from  every  act  unworthy  of  a  gentle- 
man, to  never  drink  !  Yet  I  had  barely  left 
home  before  I  began  taking  my  glass  of  beer, 


142  The  Blossoming  Desert 

then  brandies-and-soda  and  pegs  of  whiskey. 
Almost  before  I  was  aware  of  it,  I  was  living 
the  life  of  a  man-about-town,  and  right  in  the 
clutches  of  strong  drink.  To  the  dissipations 
of  London  I  added  the  revelries  of  Naples, 
Paris  and  Marseilles." 

Standing  on  life's  threshold,  equipped  with 
everything  the  heart  could  reasonably  desire 
— social  position,  financial  resources,  mag- 
nificent physique — this  young  Englishman 
deliberately  chose  the  downward  road.  Fash- 
ionable drinking  clubs,  stage  doors  and  green 
rooms  claimed  him  for  their  own.  Some  of 
his  friends,  knowing  of  the  headlong  pace  at 
which  he  was  travelling  along  the  road  to 
ruin,  said  with  a  foolishness  as  fatuous  as  it  is 
common — **  He's  only  sowing  his  wild  oats. 
He'll  settle  down  after  a  while."  He  did 
settle  down  ;  but  it  was  into  a  quagmire  of 
iniquity  from  which,  in  his  own  strength, 
there  was  to  be  no  escape.  Not  a  word  of  his 
mode  of  living  reached  his  mother's  ears,  and 
she,  in  her  blissful  ignorance,  ever  thought  of 
her  boy  as  one  who  fought  the  good  fight. 

Then  came  India.     When  a  white  man  be- 


EICHAED  H.  EGBERTS. 


The  Blossoming  Desert  143 

gins  to  sink  in  the  great  Eastern  peninsula 
and  is  not  sent  home  by  his  friends  as  soon 
as  may  be,  he  is  as  good  as  done  for.  The 
dunghill  is  almost  certain  to  get  him. 
Roberts  was  not  sent  home — until  it  was  too 
late.  Now  thoroughly  alarmed,  his  friends 
strove  to  help  him,  but  in  vain.  Everything 
that  medical  science  could  suggest  was  tried. 
A  celebrated  specialist  advised  a  long  sea 
voyage — a  trip  around  the  world.  It  availed 
nothing.  Treatment  in  Australian,  French, 
German  and  English  sanitariums  was  resorted 
to,  but  with  the  same  result.  A  return  to 
India  plunged  him  to  a  deeper  depth  of  de- 
pravity than  before.  In  Bombay  he  was 
confined  in  a  padded  cell,  and  later  operated 
upon  for  abscess  of  the  liver  brought  on  by 
acute  alcoholism.  By  this  time  the  drink 
fiend  had  gotten  him,  body  and  soul.  A 
few  years  had  sufficed  to  change  a  man  of 
parts  and  promise  into  a  hopeless,  nerveless 
dipsomaniac. 

With  his  fortune  and  commission  gone, 
he  returned  to  England.  His  father  and 
then  his  mother  died — their  deaths  hastened 


144  '^^^  Blossoming  Desert 

by  the  knowledge  of  their  son's  failure  and 
life  of  shame.  One  by  one  his  friends  turned 
from  him,  wearied  out  in  their  bootless  efforts 
to  effect  his  reformation.  Finally  a  wealthy 
cousin  sent  him  to  Canada.  At  first  he  did 
not  do  so  badly  there.  Then  the  old  appe- 
tite asserted  itself  and  he  became  a  common 
vagrant,  pestering  the  English  community 
for  assistance  and  sleeping  on  the  docks  and 
in  lumber-yards.  One  day  he  met  a  man 
who  became  interested  in  him  and  paid  his 
fare  to  New  York.  Here  he  continued  to 
lead  the  Hfe  of  a  homeless  outcast.  Now  and 
again  he  would  tackle  a  job  addressing  en- 
velopes, carrying  signs  in  the  gutter  or  wash- 
ing dishes,  simply  in  order  to  buy  liquor. 
Suffering  from  delirium  tremens  he  was  at 
one  time  or  another  an  inmate  of  every 
alcoholic  ward  in  Manhattan  and  Brooklyn. 
Winter  after  winter  for  ten  long  years  he 
stood  shivering  on  Fleischman's  bread-line, 
thankful  to  be  given  a  crust  of  bread.  Thus 
he  drifted  along,  having  reached  the  point 
where  a  man  gives  up  the  struggle  and  cries 
in  utter  hopelessness : 


The  Blossoming  Desert  145 

**  Here — ^judge  if  hell  with  all  its  power  to  damn 
Can  add  one  curse  to  the  foul  thing  I  am." 


For  four  consecutive  nights  previous  to 
June  7,  1909,  he  slept  on  the  floor  of  the  cel- 
lar of  Nick  Solomon's  saloon  on  Mulberry 
Street.  Kicked  out  from  there  he  staggered 
to  the  park  at  Five  Points  and  sat  huddled 
upon  one  of  the  benches.  Here  he  accosted 
two  men  and  tried  to  panhandle  them  for  the 
price  of  a  drink.  They  refused  him  and  one 
of  them  said,  "  You'd  better  beat  it  down  to 
Jerry  McAuley's  Mission  in  Water  Street. 
They're  looking  for  guys  like  you."  The 
words  stuck  to  him.  Next  night,  half  drunk 
and  on  the  verge  of  delirium,  he  made  his 
way  down  to  Water  Street.  He  was  given 
a  seat  near  the  door,  and  there  fell  asleep. 
Presently  he  woke  to  find  the  company  sing- 
ing a  hymn  that  had  a  familiar  sound.  He 
knew  that  hymn — it  was  one  his  mother  used 
to  sing  to  him  in  happy  childhood  years. 
Sweedy  the  words  rang  out : 


"  I  love  to  tell  the  story  of  unseen  things  above, 
Of  Jesus  and  His  glory — of  Jesus  and  His  love- 


146  The  Blossoming  Desert 

and  as  the  outcast  Hstened,  he  began  to 
think  of  his  weary  wanderings  into  a  Hfe 
where  the  air  was  heavy  and  accursed — where 
the  river  of  Regret  flowed  through  a  flower- 
less  land.  He  thought  of  how  the  world, 
that  once  had  beckoned  him  to  the  banquet 
and  offered  smilingly  the  reddened  chalice, 
now  gave  him  only  husks — the  portion  of 
a  castaway.  The  singing  of  another  hymn 
recalled  him  from  his  bitter  broodings.  An- 
other of  his  mother's  favourites — "  Nearer 
my  God  to  Thee,"  the  one  she  loved  best  of 
all.  How  the  tender  words  pierced  the  heart 
of  the  outcast : 

"  Though  like  a  wanderer 
The  sun  gone  down ; 
Darkness  be  over  me, 
My  rest  a  stone " 

and  over  him  surged  a  great  yearning  to  re- 
turn. He  thought  again  on  the  sweetness 
of  an  earlier  time — the  rest  and  peace  of 
other  days.  Yet  return  was  not  easy.  His 
soul  had  grown  callous  with  the  passing  of 
the  sinful  years.  His  mother's  voice  kept 
calling — calling — as  the  Mission  folks  sang  : 


The  Blossoming  Desert  147 

"  Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer  my  God  to  Thee — 
Nearer  to  Thee." 

At  last  he  struck  the  homeward  trail.  Up 
to  the  praying  bench  he  staggered,  and  flung 
himself  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross.  He  lifted 
his  heart  to  his  mother's  Christ.  The  heart 
that  met  him  had  no  upbraidings,  and  the 
wanderer  realized  that  the  Love  with  which 
he  had  been  watched  and  pitied  was  inter- 
woven with,  and  akin  to,  that  of  his  mother's. 
He  prayed  the  prayer  of  deep  contrition,  and, 
instantly,  the  joy  of  pardon  flooded  his  soul. 
Richard  Hugh  Roberts  was  born  again. 
What  medical  science,  the  entreaties  and 
help  of  friends,  or  the  galling  defeats  of 
twenty  years  had  failed  to  accomplish,  the 
saving  power  of  God  effected  in  the  twin- 
kling of  an  eye.  Once  sin-stained  and  leprous, 
the  man,  now  cleansed,  felt  his  flesh  come 
again  to  him  like  that  of  a  little  child.  Once 
again  life  grew  sacred  and  joyous.  In  his 
soul  a  great  reverence  for  purity  and  right- 
eousness sprang  up.  The  night  died  down 
— the  scent  of  morning  filled  the  air.    Across 


148  The  Blossoming  Desert 

the  horizon  of  his  darkened  life  came  a  glim- 
mer of  the  dawn.  Soon,  for  him,  the  rising 
sun  burned  along  the  levels  of  the  sea,  while 
bracing  winds  ran  east  and  west,  blowing 
the  clarions  of  the  day.  "  But  unto  you  that 
fear  My  name  shall  the  Sun  of  righteousness 
arise,  with  healing  in  His  wings.'^ 

Mr.  Roberts  made  the  quickest  '*  recovery  " 
ever  known  in  Water  Street.  In  less  than 
two  weeks  from  the  day  of  his  conversion 
he  obtained  a  position  of  trust  and  responsi- 
bility. In  the  course  of  a  few  months  he 
was  finding  employment  for  half  a  dozen 
other  converts  of  the  Mission.  To-day  he  is 
the  trustee  and  valued  representative  of  a 
great  corporation  in  a  territory  over  which 
he  has  entire  charge.  There  is  an  old  say- 
ing in  England  that  "  blood  will  tell."  Un- 
fortunately one  never  knows  what  it  will  tell, 
until  it  begins  to  speak.  In  this  case  it  has 
said  the  thing,  and  with  no  uncertain  voice. 
To-day,  after  years  of  bitter  forfeiture,  Rich- 
ard Roberts  once  more  bears  "without  abuse 
the  grand  old  name  of  gentleman."  To  his 
intimates  he  is  the  soul  of  chivalry,  to  the 


The  Blossoming  Desert  149 

world  a  man  of  honour,  to  the  fallen  a  faith- 
ful friend.  More  than  all  this,  he  is  a  faithful 
witness  for  Jesus  Christ,  and  a  glorious  tro- 
phy of  the  saving  power  of  the  Crucified  and 
Risen  Son  of  God. 


XI 

BY  A  GREAT  DELIVERANCE 

«  And  the  Lord  saved  by  a  great  deliverance." 

— /  Chron.  it.  14. 

EDWIN  C.  MERCER  was  brought  to 
God  in  Water  Street,  August,  1904. 
The  story  of  his  ruin  and  restoration 
is  here  set  down  in  his  own  words.  I  want 
to  anticipate  this  wonderful  testimony  by  the 
statement  that  since  September,  1907,  he 
has  been  at  work  among  the  students  of  the 
colleges  and  universities  of  America.  In  fully 
seventy-five  per  cent,  of  them  has  our  friend 
laboured  during  the  past  five  years.  A  col- 
lege man  himself,  he  is  persona  grata  with 
students  everywhere ;  and  his  labours  have 
been  abundandy  owned  by  God.  A  report 
dealing  with  Mr.  Mercer's  work  has  been 
published  recendy  and  contains  the  following 
statement:  **  All  the  large  student  centres 
from  coast  to  coast  have  been  visited  by  Mr. 
Mercer,  with  results  that  have  been  remark- 
150 


By  a  Great  Deliverance  151 

able.  Probably  no  man  in  the  country  is 
more  acceptable  in  the  fraternity  houses  and 
athletic  circles  of  the  colleges  than  Mercer, 
and  the  demands  for  his  services  far  exceed 
the  possibihties  of  his  fulfilling  any  but  the 
most  important.  The  third  year  of  his  work 
has  been  far  the  most  successful  of  his  three 
years  in  the  field,  and  the  committee  is 
deeply  gratified  at  the  results  achieved.'* 
Mr.  Mercer's  story  ought  to  be  heard  or  read 
by  every  young  college  man  in  the  country. 
The  sad  experience  of  this  bright  young  Vir- 
ginian may  very  easily  be  duplicated  a  thou- 
sand times.  The  pitfalls  into  which  he  fell 
yawn  as  widely  as  of  yore.  The  devil  is  as 
keenly  afoot,  for  the  mauling  and  marring 
of  promising  young  lives,  as  he  ever  was.  It 
is  with  the  hope  that  valuable  careers  may 
be  conserved,  and  young  lives  saved  from 
utter  shame  and  ruin,  that  Mr.  Mercer's  testi- 
mony finds  place  in  this  book. 

"  The  man  who  has  never  in  his  life  taken 
a  drink  of  alcohol  cannot  well  appreciate  the 
wonderful  blessings  enjoyed  by  a  deliverance 
therefrom.      While  on  the  other  hand,  the 


1^2  By  a  Great  Deliverance 

man  who  has  been  literally  chained  by  its 
appetite  and  made  a  demon  to  its  craving, 
who  has  sacrificed  everything  worth  living 
for  to  appease  his  yearning  for  the  greatest 
curse  that  this  world  knows,  can  alone  fully 
value  and  appreciate  the  great  happiness 
which  springs  from  a  knowledge  of  the  fact 
that  the  old  shackles  are  broken,  the  craving 
been  taken  away,  and  the  precious  blood  of 
Jesus  applied  to  the  heart.  Having  been  for 
a  number  of  years  addicted  to  the  use  of 
alcohol  and  chained  to  its  destructive  appetite, 
and  in  addition  an  abject  slave  to  the  many 
sins  which  invariably  accompany  a  drunkard's 
life,  I  can  to-day  lift  my  heart  in  grateful 
thanksgiving  to  God,  who  forgave  me  my 
sins  and  washed  me  in  His  precious  blood, 
August  6,  1904.  That  day  I  became  a  new 
creature  in  Christ  Jesus. 

**  We  cannot  well  deny  the  power  of  hered- 
ity, nor  the  consequent  fact  that  the  taste  for 
alcohol  is  born  in  some  men's  lives.  The 
great  majority  of  drunkards,  however,  culti- 
vate, rather  than  inherit,  the  taste  for  strong 
drink.     In  my  humble  judgment,  it  is  very 


By  a  Great  Deliverance  1 53 

seldom  the  case  that  the  desire  to  drink 
alcohol  is  a  natural  impulse,  but  rather  one 
disastrously  cultivated  through  the  desire  to 
be  a  '  good  fellow ' — to  be  popular — and  con- 
sidered big  and  manly.  The  taste  for  strong 
drink  in  my  case  was  not  an  inherited  one, 
for  none  of  my  ancestors — unless  very  remote 
— were  drinking  people.  My  first  drink  was 
taken  at  college,  and  taken  not  because  I 
really  wanted  it  (for  its  taste  was  at  that  time 
most  repugnant  and  repulsive  to  me),  but 
simply  because  the  men  I  started  to  associate 
with  were  drinking  men. 

"I  feared  the  cruel  taunts  which  I  knew 
would  result  if  I  made  a  determined  stand  as 
a  total  abstainer.  I  was  not  able  to  muster 
the  spunk  to  withstand  the  jeer  of  being 
'  effeminate  '  and  a  *  sissy.'  The  plea  of  my 
friends  was  that  every  young  man  had  to 
learn  such  experiences  and  *  sow  his  wild 
oats '  some  time  in  life.  Would  that  I  had 
then  possessed  the  determination  of  a  Daniel, 
who  *  purposed  in  his  heart  he  would  not  de- 
file himself,'  but  I  did  not 

*'  I  little  realized  then  that  in  sacrificing  my 


1 54  By  3.  Great  Deliverance 

principles  for  the  fear  of  unjust  criticism  I 
was  right  there  forming  habits  which,  as  time 
advanced,  were  to  merge  themselves  into  a 
power  which  would  control  and  later  wreck 
and  ruin  my  life.  *  Sow  an  act  you  reap  a 
habit;  sow  a  habit  you  reap  a  character; 
sow  a  character,  you  reap  a  destiny ' — an  old 
and  familiar  quotation  this,  the  truth  of  which 
no  man  knows  better  than  I.  The  very  drink 
which  was  at  first  repulsive  to  me  afterwards 
became  my  bread  and  meat.  My  God !  what 
would  I  not  do  for  it — even  pawning  my 
clothes,  my  ring,  my  watch,  my  very  soul 
itself.  How  little  I  thought,  on  taking  my 
first  drink  for  sociability's  sake,  that  alcohol 
would  one  day  master  me  body  and  soul ! 

**  Even  before  leaving  the  University  of 
Virginia  I  had  enough  sense  to  know  that 
business  men,  even  though  not  professed 
Christians,  were  bitterly  opposed  to  their 
employees  drinking.  So  I  resolved  at  the 
expiration  of  my  college  career  to  give  up 
the  bottle  when  I  returned  to  my  native  city 
in  the  South  for  that  reason,  if  for  no  other. 
But  you  will  seldom  find  that  men  carry  out 


EDWIN  C.  MERCEE. 


By  a  Great  Deliverance  1 55 

such  good  intentions  as  these,  and  that,  as  a 
rule,  when  once  the  habit  of  drinking  is 
formed  it  is  generally  carried  through  life.  I 
did  not  give  it  up  when  I  returned  home,  but 
on  the  contrary  drank  more  than  I  ever  did 
at  college. 

"Then  again  I  was  the  very  last  one  to 
see  (the  drunkard  always  is)  that  my  moral 
character  was  gradually  slipping  away  from 
me  ;  that  my  tastes  were  degenerating  ;  that 
my  friends  were  becoming  anxious  about  me 
and  that  the  hearts  of  my  dear  ones  were 
bleeding  for  me.  I  was  reasoned  with,  but 
would  not  listen — drink  deafens  a  man  to 
that — and  my  sole  thought  and  ambition  was 
the  social  glass.  Soon  I  began  to  desire  as 
my  companions  the  gambling  element  in 
preference  to  Christian  friends,  and  the  race- 
track was  far  more  pleasing  to  me  than  the 
parlour  and  pure  womanhood ;  the  club  and 
the  saloon  more  attractive  than  the  home  of 
my  parents.  My  father,  brothers  and  sister 
pleaded  with  me  to  forsake  the  life  I  was 
leading,  which  they  plainly  saw  would  ulti- 
mately end  in  ruin — morally,  mentally,  phys- 


156  By  a  Great  Deliverance 

ically,  socially  and  spiritually.  My  wife 
begged  me  to  mend  my  ways,  but  all  to  no 
avail.  The  taste  for  the  damnable  stuff  had 
me  tightly  chained,  and  no  one  then  told  me 
that  Jesus  was  the  only  one  to  break  those 
fetters.  I  made  resolutions,  sincerely  enough, 
but  with  will  power  totally  gone  would  break 
them  fifteen  minutes  after  they  were  made. 
I  wanted  to  do  right.  I  began  to  see  the 
terrible  dilemma  in  which  myself,  my  wife 
and  my  dear  family  were  placed,  and  I  strug- 
gled in  my  own  weak  strength  to  break 
away  from  my  evil  companions  and  the  drink 
which  was  killing  me,  but  I  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  dam  up  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

"Finally  the  time  came  when  my  disgrace 
to  family,  wife  and  self  became  so  pronounced 
that  I  was  strongly  advised  to  leave  my 
home  town,  strive  to  change  my  way  of  liv- 
ing, and  commence  life  all  over  again.  I 
went  to  a  city  about  seven  hundred  miles 
from  my  home,  and  in  two  months  I  secured 
a  very  good  position.  But  I  had  carried  with 
me  to  my  new  home  the  old  appetites,  and 
passions,  and  instead  of  forming,  as  I  had 


By  a  Great  Deliverance  157 

promised  myself  I  would,  a  circle  of  helpful 
friends,  I  sought  out  barroom  associates,  club 
companions  and  the  race-track  element.  I 
cannot  blame  my  employer  for  discharging 
me,  after  I  had  worked  for  him  for  about  a  year. 
He  had  warned  me  against  drink  and  given 
me  a  fair  chance,  so  that  it  was  my  own  folly 
which  caused  me  to  lose  my  position.  I  had 
sent  my  wife  home  a  short  time  before  this,  be- 
cause I  had  foreseen  the  end  and  desired  to 
spare  her  a  little  of  the  misery  of  my  wrecked 
life.  There  I  was  in  a  practically  strange 
city,  seven  hundred  miles  from  home,  without 
employment,  without  money  and  without 
friends,  and  well  in  debt.  'Whatsoever  a 
man  soweth  that  shall  he  also  reap.'  I  had 
sown  and  now  I  was  reaping  good  and  hard. 
I  borrowed  from  a  drinking  companion 
enough  money  to  purchase  a  railroad  ticket 
as  far  as  Trenton,  N.  J.,  and  to  that  city  I 
went  seeking  employment  but  finding  none. 
"  Just  outside  the  city  of  Trenton  is  a  monu- 
ment to  my  great-great-grandfather.  General 
Hugh  Mercer,  of  Revolutionary  fame,  and 
there  I  was,  pondering  over  the  fourteenth 


158  By  a  Great  Deliverance 

verse  of  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  St.  Luke: 
*  There  arose  a  mighty  famine  in  that  coun- 
try ;  and  he  began  to  be  in  want/  I  was  in 
want,  not  having  a  cent  to  my  name,  and  for 
two  nights  forced  through  dire  poverty  to 
sleep  on  the  benches  in  the  square  about  the 
capitol.  One  morning  I  was  standing  in 
front  of  the  Western  Union  Telegraph  office, 
hungry,  tired,  dirty,  and  almost  hopeless, 
when  an  unknown  party  came  up  to  me  and 
calling  me  by  name  said,  *  You  seem  to  be 
in  trouble.  What  is  the  matter  ? '  It  seems 
this  man  had  met  me  some  months  before  in 
a  hotel  in  the  town  I  last  worked  in,  and  he 
claimed  that  I  had  been  kind  to  him  there 
and  desired  to  reciprocate.  He  advised  me 
to  go  to  New  York  City,  and  kindly  paid  my 
fare. 

"  I  reached  New  York  City  in  July,  1904. 
My  old  college  chums  living  in  New  York 
had  been  warned  against  helping  me,  and 
they  made  it  plain  to  me  that  they  did  not 
want  me  hanging  around  their  offices. 
These  were  the  fellows  I  learned  to  drink 
with,    to    know   through   them  the  taste   of 


By  a  Great  Deliverance  159 

that  which  had  ruined  me.  My  brother 
was  in  Europe,  and  things  looked  very  blue 
and  discouraging  for  me.  I  hardly  knew 
what  to  do  or  where  to  turn.  I  had  a  Chris- 
tian cousin  on  Wall  Street,  but  as  I  had  de- 
ceived him  in  some  money  matters  a  few 
months  before,  I  was  ashamed  to  face  him 
and  have  to  admit  to  him  my  guilt.  This 
gentleman  was  Mr.  Thomas  S.  Clay,  himself 
an  honoured  trustee  of  the  Water  Street 
Mission.  I  would  have  stayed  away  from 
him  if  it  had  been  possible,  but  I  had  ex- 
hausted all  other  resources,  and  he  was  my 
last  chance.  I  now  thank  God  that  I  sought 
out  this  cousin,  for  he  was  not  only  willing 
to  forgive  me  for  my  past  wronging  of  him 
but  spoke  very  kindly  to  me  and  helped  me 
financially.  He  also  directed  me  to  the  dear 
old  Water  Street  Mission,  telling  me  that  if  I 
would  go  there  I  would  be  helped.  At  this 
wonderful  Mission  I  heard,  for  the  first  time, 
that  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  could  save  a 
drunkard,  and  that  that  was  the  only  sure 
way  a  drunkard  could  be  cured  and  saved. 
"  I  attended  a  meeting  and  conferred  with 


i6o  By  a  Great  Deliverance 

Mr.  John  H.  Wyburn,  and  from  the  testimo- 
nies I  listened  to  that  night  and  from  the 
council  given  me  by  Mr.  Wyburn,  hope  be- 
gan for  the  first  time  in  many  years  to  spring 
up  within  me.  At  last  I  saw  a  possible 
chance  for  me.  The  testimonies  of  the  re- 
deemed men  impressed  me  wonderfully,  and 
as  I  noted  their  happy,  smiling  faces  stamped 
with  the  very  spirit  of  the  Living  Christ,  saw 
them  handsomely  clothed,  and  heard  them 
telling  gladly  for  Jesus'  sake  their  stories  of 
redemption,  my  heart  began  to  beat  faster 
and  I  longed  to  be  like  they  were.  When 
the  invitation  was  given  to  all  who  really  de- 
sired to  change  their  way  of  living  and  sur- 
render their  all  to  Jesus,  I  accepted  the 
chance  and  went  forward  to  the  mourners' 
bench. 

'*  I  did  so  with  a  full  determination  to  sur- 
render my  life  to  Him  who  died  for  me.  I 
was  asked  to  pray  for  myself.  Yet  although 
seven  years  previously  I  was  a  Sunday-school 
teacher  in  my  home  church,  I  found  myself 
unable  to  utter  even  the  simplest  kind  of 
a   prayer.      Somebody   or   other  asked  me 


By  a  Great  Deliverance  l6l 

to  repeat  after  them  the  publican's  prayer: 
*God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner/  which  I 
did.  When  I  arose  to  my  feet  I  felt  better, 
and  while  I  could  not  explain  what  had  taken 
place  in  my  life,  yet  I  was  conscious  of  the 
fact  that  some  great  event  had  happened. 
Thank  God,  as  I  write  this  testimony  of  my  life, 
I  now  know  what  the  event  was — Jesus  Christ 
had  come  into  my  life,  and  thank  God  He 
has  been  living  and  reigning  there  ever  since. 
Oh,  what  a  wonderful  Saviour — how  patient 
— how  willing  to  forgive  and  forget — how  anx- 
ious to  help — how  zealous  to  keep.  I  never 
knew  what  genuine  happiness  was  until  I  be- 
gan in  an  humble  way  to  serve  Him  who 
died  on  Calvary  to  save  a  lost,  sinful  world. 
I  now  know,  thank  God,  that  the  world  and 
the  things  of  the  world  can  never  truly  sat- 
isfy, but  that  a  surrendered  life  to  the  will 
and  wish  of  Him  who  saves  and  keeps  not 
only  satisfies,  but  is  beyond  all  comparison 
the  happiest  and  the  best. 

"  For  the  past  four  years  my  life  has  been 
spent  among  the  young  men  of  our  American 
universities,  colleges  and  preparatory  schools. 


i62  By  a  Great  Deliverance 

I  am  trying  to  preach  to  these  men  a  prevent- 
ative message  of  God's  power  to  save  them 
from  the  depths  of  hell,  which  I  sounded 
through  dissipation  and  sin.  Mine  is  a  won- 
derful field  among  the  two  hundred  to  three 
hundred  thousand  young  men  who  so  greatly 
need  Jesus  Christ  at  the  centre  of  their  lives. 
When  you  realize  that  the  college  men  of  to- 
day are  to  become  the  leaders  in  civic  and 
national  life  of  to-morrow,  then  you  can  be- 
gin to  appreciate  the  significance  of  my 
work.  God  has  privileged  me  to  give  my 
life  story  at  seventy-five  per  cent,  of  the  uni- 
versities and  colleges  of  America ;  to  address 
some  80,000  young  men ;  to  meet  personally 
in  club  and  fraternity  houses,  at  training 
tables,  and  on  the  campus  about  35,000  col- 
lege men ;  to  have  personal  interviews  on 
vital  topics  with  some  8,000  young  men,  and 
to  have  in  my  evangelistic  meetings  about 
4,000  take  a  definite  stand  for  the  Christian 
life. 

"  This  gives  some  faint  idea  of  the  definite 
side  of  the  work,  and  yet  who  can  meas- 
ure   the  unconscious    influence    and    good 


By  a  Great  Deliverance  163 

which  we  never  hear  about?  I  am  just 
about  to  enter  on  my  fourth  year  of  work 
among  the  college  men  of  America  and  I 
seek  the  earnest  prayers  of  all  my  friends 
and  all  Christians  who  read  this  brief  chap- 
ter. It  promises  to  be  the  most  important 
and  hardest  year  I  have  yet  had  in  the  work. 
I  have  every  day  of  the  coming  year  taken 
up  and  my  committee  are  now  picking  and 
choosing  the  most  needy  places  for  me  to 
labour  in.  Those  in  charge  of  my  work  have 
in  hand  enough  invitations  to  keep  me  busy 
day  and  night  for  the  next  three  years.  Con- 
trast this  blessed  service  with  the  awful  life  I 
once  led,  and  you  will  see  that  I  have  a 
right  to  claim  that  *  the  Lord  has  saved  me 
by  a  great  deliverance.'  " 


XII 

THE  LIFTED  BONDAGE 

"  The  Lord  shall  give  thee  rest  from  thy  sorrow,  and  from 
thy  fear,  and  from  the  hard  bondage  wherein  thou  wast  made  to 
serve." — Isa.  xiv.  j. 

''W  THENEVER I  visit  Water  Street," 
^y^  said  a  prominent  business  man 
one  night  in  the  Mission,  **  I  al- 
ways experience  considerable  difficulty  in 
bringing  myself  to  even  a  faint  realization  of 
what  these  converts  were  two,  three  or  five 
years  ago.  Look  at  them,"  he  went  on,  in- 
dicating two  or  three  score  of  men,  with  a 
sweep  of  his  arm.  "  Doesn't  it  seem  incred- 
ible that  these  splendid  fellows  were  once 
drunkards  and  Bowery  *  bums '  ?" 

**  It  does,"  was  replied,  '*  but  then,  surely 
the  transforming  power  of  God  counts  for 
something?" 

"Yes,   yes — I   know,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

**  There,  of  course,  is  the  secret.     Yet  even 

when  that,  and  every  other  contributing  in- 
164 


The  Lifted  Bondage  165 

fluence,  has  been  reckoned  in,  the  marvellous 
transformation  effected  in  McAuley  Mission 
men  constitutes  one  of  the  standing  wonders 
of  the  city." 

There  is  nothing  hyperbolic  about  this  pro- 
nouncement. Clean-cut,  alert,  courteous,  in 
many  cases  evidencing  culture  and  refine- 
ment, these  Water  Street  converts  exert  an 
influence  which  renders  it  positively  difficult 
to  think  of  them  as  having  been  anything 
other  than  they  are  to-day.  And  of  none 
can  this  be  affirmed  with  greater  truth  and 
aptness  than  of  Howard  Thompson.  If  one 
did  not  know  he  would  never  suspect  this 
man's  bitter  past.  There  is  no  outward  clue. 
He  has  been,  however,  as  far  away  from  God 
as  most  men,  but  to-day  he  is  at  home  in 
the  Father's  house.  He  is  of  splendid  stock 
and  family.  Yet  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the 
influences  surrounding  his  early  years  in  a 
beautiful  Western  city  were  calculated  to  de- 
velop the  best  that  was  in  him,  he  very  early 
in  life  rebelled  against  God  ;  and  until  a  little 
over  five  years  ago,  lived  his  life  without 
spiritual  help  of  any  kind — in  factj  without 


l66  The  Lifted  Bondage 

believing  that  any  such  help  existed.  In  his 
own  family  there  was  abundant  evidence  of 
the  contrary,  but  he  chose  to  ignore  it,  and  for 
his  choice  he  has  dearly  paid. 

"  Now  that  I  look  back  into  the  past,"  he 
said  to  me  one  day,  *'  I  can  scarcely  remem- 
ber any  portion  of  it  when  I  was  not  in  either 
physical  or  mental  misery  brought  on  by 
vicious  and  selfish  indulgences.  For  me  it 
has  been  *  pay  as  you  go.'  " 

Finally,  these  evil  practices  brought  him  to 
the  most  unhappy  condition  to  which  any 
man  can  be  brought  in  this  life — that  of  be- 
ing bound  by  habits  over  which  he  had  no 
control,  with  which  even  medical  science  was 
entirely  unable  to  cope.  Chief  among  them 
was  the  love  of  liquor  against  the  inroads  of 
which  he  struggled  vainly  for  many  years. 
He  underwent  several  courses  of  treatment, 
and  entered  sanitariums  to  take  most  of  the 
well-known  **  cures."  None  of  these  proved 
effectual  and  were  helped  to  failure  by  an- 
other pernicious  habit — that  of  inordinate 
cigarette-smoking.  For  more  than  fifteen 
years    he    had    smoked    incessantly,    right 


The  Lifted  Bondage  167 

through  the  day,  and  often  a  good  part  of 
the  night.  His  nervous  system  became  all 
but  shattered  from  these  excesses,  and  he  re- 
sorted to  drugs.  *' This  last,"  he  says,  "just 
about  clinched  the  business  of  my  ruin.  In 
spite  of  the  entreaties  of  friends,  the  claims  of 
my  children,  and  the  appeal  of  a  hundred 
other  reasons,  I  continued  in  my  evil  courses 
until  I  became  utterly  helpless.  I  was  un- 
able to  work,  and  although  still  a  young 
man,  became  a  burden  on  my  family.  And 
the  thought  of  my  sheer  helplessness,  the 
sense  of  my  total  defeat  embittered  me  against 
everything  and  everybody.  I  was  a  hopeless, 
fettered  slave." 

On  May  30,  1906,  he  was  taken  to  St. 
Vincent's  Hospital  in  what  was  thought  to 
be  a  dying  condition.  Under  careful  treat- 
ment, however,  he  slowly  recovered.  While 
still  in  the  hospital  he  was  visited  by  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Brotherhood  of  St.  Andrew,  who 
came  at  the  instance  of  a  man  who  knew 
Mr.  Thompson  and  had  often  helped  him. 
This  good  brother  sent  him,  when  convales- 
cent, to  the  New  York  Christian  Home  for 


i68  The  Lifted  Bondage 

Intemperate  Men  at  Mount  Vernon.  It  was 
while  in  that  admirable  institution  that  he 
heard  the  news  of  a  Deliverer  who  could  free 
him  from  his  awful  bondage.  To  one  of  the 
religious  services  came  E.  C.  Mercer,  telling 
the  story  of  the  Saviour  he  had  found  in 
Water  Street,  and  of  the  glorious  change 
that  had  been  effected  in  his  life.  The  story- 
gripped  Mr.  Thompson  as  nothing  had  done 
before.  Somehow,  he  had  not  realized 
hitherto  that  the  root-cause  of  all  his  misery 
was  sin  and  rebellion  against  God ;  but  that 
afternoon  he  saw  it  with  startling  clearness. 
After  leaving  Mount  Vernon  he  made  his 
way  down  to  Water  Street,  determined  to 
learn  more  of  this  wonderful  way  of  escape. 

Many  such  stories  as  that  which  he  had 
heard  Mercer  tell  at  Mount  Vernon  were 
given  that  night.  The  evidence  was  over- 
whelming. In  the  after  meeting,  Mr. 
Thompson,  with  a  score  of  other  men,  went 
forward  to  the  penitent  form,  and  on  his 
bended  knees  promised  God  that  with  His 
help  he  would  begin  to  fight  the  good  fight. 
That  was  more  than  five  years  ago,  and  he 


The  Lifted  Bondage  169 

is  still  in  the  ranks  of  the  King's  army.  The 
Lord  has  wonderfully  blessed  Howard 
Thompson  during  the  passing  of  these  years. 
He  has  given  him  joy  and  peace ;  He  has 
given  him  the  strength  to  live  decently,  hon- 
esdy,  uprighdy  ;  He  has  put  a  new  song  into 
his  mouth  and  established  his  going;  He 
has  enabled  him  to  secure  and  hold  a  re- 
sponsible position  with  an  excellent  business 
concern — a  corporation  of  which  to-day  he  is 
secretary  ;  He  has  given  him  means  where- 
withal not  only  to  support  those  dependent 
upon  him  but  to  pay  off  the  debts  con- 
tracted in  less  happier  days.  Respected  and 
loved  by  all  who  know  him,  he  is,  to-day, 
entirely  freed  from  the  foul  habits  which  once 
securely  held  him,  and  is  being  signally  used 
of  God.  He  never  loses  an  opportunity  to 
tell  old  and  young  that  the  secret  of  all 
moral  victory  and  well-being  lies  in  putting 
one's  trust  in  Jesus  Christ.  His  great,  clear, 
definite  affirmation  is  that  God  never  loses 
sight  of  them  that  put  their  confidence  in 
Him. 
The  Master  Potter  has  put  His  hand  on 


1 70  The  Lifted  Bondage 

this  once  marred  piece  of  human  clay  and  is 
now  shaping  it  into  a  vessel  of  usefulness 
and  honour  in  His  service.  **  To  what  pur- 
pose is  the  waste  ?  "  is  sometimes  the  cry  of 
men  and  women  as  they  behold  efforts  made 
to  reclaim  the  lost.  Howard  Thompson  is  a 
magnificent  vindication,  and  a  prophecy  of 
greater  things  to  come. 

"For  the  encouragement  of  those  who 
may  be  praying  for  dear  ones,"  he  some- 
times says  in  his  testimony,  "  I  would  say, 
*  Never  give  up,'  no  matter  how  hopeless  the 
case  may  seem.  I  am  convinced  that  it  was 
in  answer  to  the  prayers  of  my  family — es- 
pecially the  unfaltering  love  and  faith  of  a 
dear  sister — that  I  was  finally  led  to  deliver- 
ance in  Jesus  Christ." 


XIII 

THE  SECOND  SPRING 

«'  Lo,  the  winter  is  past,  the  rain  is  over  and  gone ;  the  flow- 
ers appear  on  the  earth;  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is 
come." — Solomon^s  Song  it.  ii,  12. 

WATER  STREET  has  been  bless- 
edly used  of  God,  not  only  to  lift 
men  from  the  depths  of  spiritual 
ignorance  and  lifelong  rebellion,  but  in 
bringing  back  those  who  have  played  the 
apostate — who  for  some  mess  of  licentious 
pottage  have  bartered  away  their  birthright. 
Many  such  have  begun  life  again  in  the  old 
McAuley  Mission.  "  A  fellow  feeling  makes 
us  wondrous  kind."  Very  few  men  ever 
strike  Water  Street,  who  have  not  a  shame- 
ful chapter  or  two  in  the  story  of  their  lives. 
Thus  it  comes  about  that  when  a  man,  who 
has  at  one  time  denied  his  Lord,  comes  back 
into  His  service,  he  finds  it  easier  to  start 

again  in  Water  Street  than  almost  anywhere 
171 


ijl  The  Second  Spring 

else.  No  man  is  ever  reviled  or  slighted 
because  of  his  past.  It  is  the  present  that 
counts — and  the  future.  McAuley  Mission 
men  are  bound  to  each  other  in  a  spiritual 
esprit  de  corps.  Among  them  is  one  whose 
name  is  here  withheld  in  the  interest  of 
others  (not  his  own),  but  whose  authentic 
story  follows : 

**  To  set  down  a  record  of  one's  prodigal 
years,  broken  vows  and  wasted,  weary  days 
is,  as  it  were,  to  put  oneself  in  the  pillory, 
yet,  in  view  of  all  that  has  been  done  for  me 
down  in  Water  Street,  it  is  a  very  little  thing 
to  do,  after  all. 

**  I  am  an  Englishman — raised  and  educa- 
ted in  one  of  her  most  ancient  cities.  On  my 
father's  side  I  come  of  a  line  of  Methodist 
preachers  that  stretches  away  back  to  Wesley 
himself  ;  on  my  mother's,  from  the  men  who, 
since  the  days  when  they  drew  bow  at  Crecy 
and  Agincourt,  have  been  the  backbone  of 
the  British  race — the  yeomen  of  England. 
My  early  years  were  uneventful  enough — 
sheltered,  guarded,  peaceful.  Nothing  ever 
really  happens  in   that  quaint,  old,  walled 


The  Second  Spring  173 

city  of  my  birth,  with  its  story  of  a  thousand 
years  ;  in  it  life  moves  but  slowly.  And  the 
record  of  the  halcyon  days  I  spent  in  it,  until 
1  reached  the  age  of  twenty,  is  just  an  ordi- 
nary, happy,  every-day  one — the  record  of  a 
healthy,  mischievous,  English  college  boy, 
blest  with  an  ardent  love  of  every  kind  of  out- 
door sport  and  game,  and  cursed  with  an  ex- 
traordinary penchant  for  getting  into  innu- 
merable scrapes  of  every  imaginable  kind. 

"  Friends  hoped  and  believed  that  I  should 
one  day  make  some  sort  of  a  mark  in  the 
world.  Father  and  mother  prayed  that  their 
son  might  become  a  minister  of  Jesus  Christ. 
I  was  born,  bred  and  nurtured  in  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  Methodist  Church.  Mother's 
cradle-songs  and  lullabies  were  the  old-time 
hymns  of  Zion.  Nothing  of  example  or  pre- 
cept was  ever  set  before  me  in  my  home-life 
but  what  was  pure,  lovely  and  of  good  report. 
I  had  troops  of  friends  whose  influence,  had 
I  but  heeded  it,  would  have  conferred  on  me 
incalculable  benefit,  for  it  was  wholly  cast  on 
the  side  of  truth  and  righteous  living.  Every 
encouragement  was  given  me  to  seek  and 


174  The  Second  Spring 

tread  a  path  calculated  to  lead  to  some 
signal  achievement — some  high  destiny. 
But  I  laughed  it  to  scorn,  went  out  from  the 
old  roof-tree,  and  when  I  came  to  the  part- 
ing of  the  ways,  chose  the  lower  road.  I 
knew  of  the  right  path — none  better — of 
what  it  would  mean,  of  Avhither  it  would  lead. 
Yet  I  deliberately  and  perversely  turned 
away.  Like  Kipling's  Mulvaney,  I  saw 
and  knew  the  best,  yet  followed  and  did  the 
worst.  And  so,  on  the  very  threshold  of 
manhood,  I  began,  with  careless  abandon,  to 
form  habits  and  associations  that  were  one 
day  to  hold  me  fettered  as  with  rings  of 
steel. 

**The  next  ten  years  of  my  life  passed  rap- 
idly enough — swished  along  in  one  wild 
whirl.  I  attained  to  considerable  skill  in 
several  directions  which  for  years  I  followed 
with  passing  success  in  various  parts  of  Eng- 
land. I  always  enjoyed  splendid  health,  as 
most  athletes  do,  and  drank  during  the  whole 
of  those  wander-years  whatever  I  thought  fit, 
and  as  much  of  it  as  I  pleased.  Time  and 
time  again,  I  grew  tired  of  a  town  or  a  job, 


The  Second  Spring  175 

and  sought  some  other  mode  of  livelihood. 
I  turned  my  hand  to  newspaper  and  maga- 
zine work,  to  running  a  big  vaudeville  house 
in  a  Midland  town,  to  managing  a  large  sa- 
loon in  the  city  of  Manchester,  called  *The 
Blue  Ball.'  All  this  time  the  trend  of  my  life 
was  downward — ever  downward.  My  imme- 
diate friends  were  men  of  my  own  kidney — 
wild,  careless,  irresponsible  prodigals,  gener- 
ous to  a  fault,  but  without  a  thought  save  for 
the  passing  hour.  For  most  of  them,  poor 
boys,  there  has  come  a  day  of  terrible  reck- 
oning. One  after  another  they  were  flung 
away  on  life's  wayside — self-robbed  and  self- 
slain.  There  were  eight  of  us  in  that  little- 
band  of  revellers.  Two  alone  survive — my- 
self, and  one  man  now  resident  in  St.  Louis, 
Mo.  Of  the  rest,  one  died  fighting  in  South 
Africa ;  the  others — God  help  us  I — lie  buried 
in  suicides'  graves  I 

**  In  the  year  1900  God  cried  a  halt.  I  had 
at  this  time  left  Manchester  for  London,  and 
by  the  merest  chance  came  under  the  influ- 
ence of  James  Flanagan,  the  great  South 
London  slum-missioner.     At   Eastertide,   in 


176  The  Second  Spring 

this  portentous  year,  one  of  my  brothers 
came  to  spend  a  short  vacation  with  me; 
and  as  I  had  known  for  years  that  he  had 
been  sincerely  and  earnestly  serving  God,  I 
questioned  him  as  to  which  of  the  great 
London  preachers  he  would  like  most  to 
hear  on  the  forthcoming  Sunday.  He  de- 
clared for  a  preacher  I  did  not  know,  whose 
name  I  had  never  heard.  Indeed,  I  was  not 
at  all  likely  to  have  heard  it,  seeing  that  I  had 
not  attended  a  single  religious  service  of  any 
kind  since  coming  to  London.  Nor  did  I, 
on  this  particular  occasion,  have  the  slightest 
personal  inclination  to  go,  but  simply  sug- 
gested the  arrangement  out  of  courtesy  to 
my  brother,  and  in  deference  to  what  I  knew 
would  be  the  way  in  which  he  would  like 
to  spend  his  Sunday.  So  we  went  to  church, 
my  brother  and  I,  and,  immediately,  I  fell 
under  the  spell  of  a  great  Irish  preacher.  On 
that  very  first  occasion  of  my  hearing  him 
preach,  he  succeeded  in  making  me  thor- 
oughly miserable — showing  me,  as  I  had  not 
hitherto  seen  it,  what  a  prodigal  I  was,  what 
a  wreck  I  had  made  of  my  life,  what  a  heap 


The  Second  Spring  177 

of  useless,  human  rubbish  I  had  become. 
Unbeknown  to  my  friends,  yet  utterly  unable 
to  keep  away,  I  returned  again  and  again  on 
Sabbath  evenings  to  this  man's  church  and 
came,  finally,  to  where  I  had,  perforce,  to 
make  a  decision.  I  had  either  to  cease  going 
to  services — for  I  could  no  longer  continue 
to  listen  to  this  man's  preaching  and  remain 
what  I  was — or  give  myself  to  Jesus  Christ. 
I  did  the  latter,  and  found  pardon  through 
the  blood  of  the  Cross. 

"  With  its  more  than  seventy  meetings  a 
week,  there  is  always  plenty  of  work  waiting 
to  be  done  at  this  great  mission  centre,  and  I 
at  once  flung  myself  whole-heartedly  into  its 
activities.  To  the  next  eight  years  of  my 
life  I  now  look  back  with  pleasure  and  with 
poignant  pain.  They  were  eight  years  of 
crowded,  happy  days — days  spent  in  the 
service  of  Christ  and  humanity,  yet  destined 
to  end  in  a  night  of  bitterness  far  worse  than 
death.  Shortly  after  my  conversion  the  man 
who  led  me  to  Christ  left  to  make  a  world 
tour.  He  was  succeeded  by  one  of  the  no- 
blest men  on  all  God's  earth,  by  whose  side 


1/8  The  Second  Spring 

I  worked,  week  in  and  week  out,  for  eight 
years  in  those  awful  sin-smitten  slums  of 
Southeast  London.  I  became  a  lay- preacher 
and  pleaded  the  case  of  the  downtrodden, 
outcast  poor,  both  on  the  lecture-platform 
and  in  the  pulpits  of  the  churches  of  my 
native  land.  I  contributed  hundreds  of  ar- 
ticles to  the  religious  press  of  England,  and 
in  view  of  it  all,  I  believe  I  can  honestly  lay 
claim,  and  that  without  the  faintest  suspicion 
of  egotism,  to  eight  years  of  strenuous,  suc- 
cessful labour  spent  in  the  service  of  Jesus 
Christ. 

"  But  I  fell — God  help  me — and  the  fall  was 
as  from  heaven  to  hell.  Not  as  a  man  falls 
over  a  sheer  precipice  did  I  reach  my  Ge- 
henna, but  by  a  gradual  declension.  To  put 
it  in  a  sentence,  I  was  ruined  by  forming  un- 
desirable literary  friendships  and  associations. 
I  got  to  know  quite  intimately  a  number  of 
literary  men  I  ought  never  to  have  known  at 
all.  They  were  of  the  life  I  had  left  behind 
eight  years  agone — and  I  knew  it.  But  in 
my  arrogant  pride  I  imagined  myself  strong 
enough  to  be  able  to  fraternize  with  these 


The  Second  Spring  179 

habitues  of  the  Fleet  Street  taverns  and  still 
preserve  inviolate  my  Christian  integrity. 
Well,  I  was  mistaken — blindly,  utterly  mis- 
taken. I  lost  grip  of  Christ,  became  cold 
and  lifeless  in  the  very  spiritual  heart  of  me. 
Like  the  church  at  Sardis,  I  had  a  name  as 
of  one  that  lived,  yet  who  was  dead.  I 
drifted  lower  and  lower.  I  commenced  to 
drink  again — I  who  had  not  touched  the 
cursed  stuff  for  eight  long  years.  I  severed 
my  connection  with  my  church,  sold  a  mag- 
nificent library  for  a  song,  parted  from  my 
wife  and  little  one,  and  went  generally  and 
unmistakably  to  the  devil. 

"  Yet  all  this  time  an  unceasing  remorse 
was  eating  the  very  heart  out  of  me.  I  be- 
lieve I  never  slept  for  weeks.  Through  the 
influence  of  some  friends  I  obtained  a  posi- 
tion of  greater  lucrative  value  than  I  had 
ever  held  before.  But  I  walked  the  streets 
of  London  a  lost  soul — enduring  the  tortures 
of  the  damned.  Finally,  the  whole  thing  be- 
came absolutely  intolerable  and  I  determined 
to  leave  England  for  America,  there  to  start 
life  afresh.     I  came.     But  with  me  I  brought 


l8o  The  Second  Spring 

the  renegade  heart — the  apostate  life.  Im- 
mediately on  reaching  New  York  I  struck 
up  acquaintances  of  a  totally  undesirable 
character — notably  that  of  a  one-time  bril- 
liant physician,  but  who,  like  myself,  had 
lost  himself.  These  were  not  the  men  whose 
friendship  I  should  have  sought ;  they  could 
do  nothing  to  help  me — they  could  not  help 
themselves.  And  so  I  did  nothing  towards 
winning  my  way  back  to  the  place  whence  I 
had  fallen.  I  drifted  about  the  states  of  New 
York,  Pennsylvania  and  New  Jersey,  spend- 
ing the  money  I  had  brought  with  me,  get- 
ting lower  and  lower  in  the  social  scale  and 
rapidly  qualifying  for  the  lodging-house  and 
the  gutter.     And  there  I  finally  landed. 

"  One  Tuesday — a  day  that  witnessed  the 
heaviest  rainfall  New  York  had  experienced 
in  twenty  years — saw  me,  soaked  to  the  skin, 
applying  for  admission  at  the  Industrial 
Christian  Alliance  Home  in  Bleecker  Street. 
I  was  admitted,  and  while  in  that  institution 
heard  for  the  first  time  in  this  country  of  the 
Jerry  McAuley  Mission.  Of  course  I  had 
heard  of  it  when  in  England.     As  a  mission 


The  Second  Spring  181 

worker  I  could  not  easily  have  missed  doing 
so.  When  Mr.  Hadley's  book,  *  Down  in 
Water  Street/  was  published,  I  reviewed  it 
for  several  prominent  religious  journals. 
But  the  whole  matter  had  escaped  me,  and 
had  not  so  much  as  crossed  my  mind  since 
landing  in  this  country.  It  was,  however, 
brought  back  to  me  at  the  religious  service, 
which  is  part  of  the  weekly  schedule  of  the 
Alliance  Home.  The  speaker  was  Mr. 
George  Hall,  himself  a  convert  of  Water 
Street,  who  related  his  testimony,  with 
simple  directness  and  telling  effect.  I  de- 
cided to  visit  the  Mission — something  I  had 
often  wished  to  be  able  to  do  in  the  days 
when  I  was  engaged  in  similar  work  in  the 
slums  of  Southeast  London.  I  had  no 
thought  or  anticipation  of  its  exercising  a 
saving  effect  on  myself.  I  was,  if  anything, 
harder,  more  embittered,  than  before.  But 
I  went  to  Water  Street — certainly  not  seek- 
ing temporal  aid,  for  I  had  not  the  remotest 
idea  that  it  could  be  obtained  there.  I  had 
imagined  the  McAuley  Mission  as  attending 
only  to  the  spiritual  needs  of  men.     And  I 


l82  The  Second  Spring 

was  certainly  not  seeking  spiritual  aid,  for 
my  heart  was  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

**  That  meeting  I  shall  never  forget — shall 
never,  I  trust,  desire  to  forget.  While  sit- 
ting listening  to  the  testimonies  of  the  con- 
verts, there  came  upon  me  a  rush  of  old 
memories  that  completely  swept  away  my 
callous  indifference  to  the  things  of  God. 
My  heart  was  stirred  to  its  innermost  depths, 
so  much  so  that  I  could  not  resist  the  impulse 
that  came  upon  me  to  stand  up  in  my  place 
and  testify — not  as  the  others  were  doing,  to 
a  newly  found  joy  in  Jesus  Christ,  but  as  one 
who,  though  once  a  child  and  servant  of  God, 
was  then  an  utter  castaway.  I  then  hurried 
from  the  hall,  intending  never  to  visit  it 
again.  But  God  planned  otherwise.  With- 
out knowing  it  I  was  followed  out  into  the 
street  by  one  of  the  Mission  converts,  Mr. 
Howard  J.  Thompson,  a  man  who  to-day  is 
my  dearest  friend.  Some  considerable  dis- 
tance from  Water  Street  Mr.  Thompson 
overtook  and  spoke  to  me.  He  did  not  com- 
mit the  tactical  blunder  of  attempting  to 
preach  to  me  in  the  street  about  my  obviously 


The  Second  Spring  183 

lost  condition.  He  had  a  far  better  concep- 
tion of  the  work  he  had  undertaken  than  to 
do  anything  of  that  kind.  He  just  began, 
kindly  and  sympathetically,  to  evince  a 
friendly  interest  in  my  welfare.  I  suppose 
that,  at  first,  I  resented  and  endeavoured  to 
repulse  my  brother's  kindly  intentions.  But 
he  persisted — persisted  with  that  patience 
which  only  a  man  with  the  love  of  God  in 
his  heart  can  exercise.  Finally  he  completely 
won  my  confidence,  and  ten  minutes  later  I 
found  myself  frankly  telling  him — an  utter 
stranger — my  whole  wretched  story.  He  in- 
vited me  to  visit  the  Mission  again.  I  did  so 
— and  yet  a  third  time.  During  these  days 
the  spirit  of  God  was  drawing  me  consciously 
nearer  to  Himself.  Touched  by  a  loving 
hand — the  loving  hand  of  Howard  Thompson 
— wakened  by  kindness,  cords  once  broken 
began  to  vibrate  again.  On  the  occasion  of 
my  fourth  visit  to  the  Mission  I  made  the 
great,  glad  surrender.  Christ  spoke  pardon 
to  my  weary,  wandering  heart.  Since  that 
hour  I  have  tried  to  follow  Him — to  be  His 
child.     At  many  times  and  in  many  things 


184  The  Second  Spring 

I  have  failed.  It  has  been  harder  to  do  than 
I  had  imagined — I  had  wandered  farther 
away  than  I  had  ever  dreamed. 

"One  thing  however  is  certain — I  have 
continued  unto  this  hour.  Avenues  of  serv- 
ice and  usefulness  have  opened  up  for  me 
which  by  Christ's  help  I  am  trying  to  tread 
like  a  man.  I  pray  God  that  He  may  ever 
give  me  the  power  of  overcoming,  and  the 
strength  to  hold  fast  that  which  I  have,  and 
see  that  no  man  take  my  crown." ' 


XIV 

SAVED  TO  THE  UTTERMOST 

"  Wherefore  He  is  able  also  to  save  them  to  the  uttermost 
that  come  unto  God  by  Him.     .     .     ." — Heb.  vii.  2^. 

THE  story  which  here  follows  is  that 
of  a  cultured  German  who  so  com- 
pletely lost  himself,  here  in  New 
York,  as  to  become  a  mere  barroom  loafer, 
who  wandered  hungry,  neglected,  and  rum- 
soaked  about  the  Bowery  and  the  lower  East 
Side,  until  his  life  was  that,  almost,  of  a  wild 
beast.  To  what  depths  of  sheer  depravity 
Reinhold  Schultz  sank,  is  known  only  to 
himself.  What  is  known,  however,  is  that 
God  has  most  marvellously  raised  him  up 
to  a  level  of  good  citizenship,  righteous  liv- 
ing, and  fellowship  with  Himself.  While  this 
wonderful  trophy  of  redeeming  grace  walks 
the  earth,  no  living  man,  amenable  to  the 
appeal  of  appreciable,  tangible  results,  can 
reasonably  doubt  the  power  of  God  to  save 
and  keep  even  the  vilest  of  the  vile.  I  have 
interviewed  this  man  many  times,  and  his 


1 86  Saved  to  the  Uttermost 

story,  so  full  of  tragedy  and  sorrow,  can  be 
authenticated  in  every  detail.  Perhaps  it 
were  best  to  let  him  tell  his  story  in  his 
own  way — the  story  of  his  great,  his  won- 
derful redemption. 

"It  is  with  a  sense  of  shame  and  sorrow 
that  I  tell  the  story  of  my  past  life  as  a 
drunkard,  but  I  shall  be  more  than  happy  if 
this  story-  will  lead  some  other  wretched 
drunkard  to  see  how  God  can  transform  a 
man  from  being  a  curse  to  himself  and  to 
the  world,  into  being  a  blessing  to  his  family. 

"  When  a  foreigner  with  a  good  education 
comes  to  this  country  to  start  a  new  life, 
lots  of  people  imagine  there  must  have 
been  something  wrong  with  him.  It  is  not 
always  the  case  by  any  means,  but  in  my 
case  it  certainly  was. 

"  I  was  born  in  Germany,  and  had  all  the 
advantages  a  young  man  could  desire.  I 
graduated  from  the  high  school  at  seventeen 
years  of  age  and  went  to  a  university.  I 
fought  lots  of  duels  as  student,  and  scars 
from  these  escapades  are  still  visible  on  my 


Saved  to  the  Uttermost  187 

face.  After  a  time,  my  father  found  out  that 
I  was  doing  little  at  the  university  but  drink 
and  dissipate.  So  he  took  me  away  and 
started  me  on  a  commercial  career.  For 
three  years  I  was  engaged  as  German  and 
French  correspondent  in  one  of  the  largest 
forwarding  houses  in  Russia.  Later  I  came 
to  Hamburg,  and  while  in  that  city  became 
identified  with  the  Socialist  movement  and 
attained  to  some  prominence  as  a  lecturer  at 
the  meetings  of  that  party. 

"  By  this  time  I  had  lost  all  faith  in  God. 
Rejecting  and  ridiculing  the  religion  of  Jesus 
Christ  myself,  I  strove  in  my  public  utter- 
ances to  induce  other  men  to  do  the  same, 
urging  them  to  accept  the  theory  that  their 
only  hope  of  social  salvation  lay  in  breaking 
away  from  churches  and  refusing  to  be  hood- 
winked by  ministers  and  priests.  For  in- 
citing to  riot,  I  was  seized  by  the  authorities 
and  imprisoned  for  thirty  days.  After  finish- 
ing my  sentence,  I  experienced  a  great  re- 
vulsion of  feeling  for  the  ideals  which  had 
made  my  life,  up  to  this  point,  an  utter 
failure.     I    accordingly    left    Germany    and 


l88  Saved  to  the  Uttermost 

came  to  America.  I  easily  secured  a  good 
position,  and,  after  a  little  while,  married  a 
good  woman  who  had  known  me  since  boy- 
hood. For  a  year  or  so,  all  went  well,  and  I 
led  a  tolerably  happy  life.  But  domestic 
happiness  did  not  last  long,  either  for  my 
wife  or  myself.  In  my  native  land  I  had 
drunk  heavily  of  the  strong  German  beer, 
and  so,  on  coming  to  this  country,  com- 
menced to  drink  the  lager  brewed  here  in 
large  quantities.  But  I  found  it  weak  and 
insipid  compared  with  the  European  brand 
and,  consequently,  began  to  drink  whiskey. 
Before  many  months  were  over,  this  newly- 
acquired  appetite  gained  such  a  mastery 
over  me  as  to  goad  me  to  do  almost  any- 
thing on  earth  to  get  liquor." 

Then  began  a  period  of  wretchedness  and 
undoing  for  this  man  who,  with  half  a  dozen 
qualifications,  each  one  sufficiendy  valuable 
to  have  given  him  a  respected  position  in 
society,  did  nothing  with  himself  but  drift 
utterly  to  the  dogs.  He  lost  position  after 
position,  went  in  business  for  himself,  and  of 


Saved  to  the  Uttermost  189 

course  dropped,  commercially,  to  pieces.  In 
less  than  a  year  from  the  time  he  began  to 
drink  whiskey,  he  had  become  a  besotted, 
helpless  drunkard.  His  wife,  hoping  against 
hope,  did  everything  a  woman  could  to  save 
the  man  she  loved  from  going  down  to  ruin. 
Nothing,  however,  availed.  The  household 
furniture  went — the  home  stripped  of  every 
stick  and  stone.  Finally  the  drunkard's  wife 
left  him,  taking  the  child  with  her  to  Mount 
Vernon.  There  the  poor,  driven  woman  se- 
cured a  position  for  herself,  and  an  arrange- 
ment was  effected  with  her  husband,  whereby 
he  had  access  to  his  child  for  a  few  minutes 
one  day  each  week.  The  little  girl  was  sent 
to  a  street  corner,  where  the  father  would 
wait  to  talk  for  just  a  few  brief  moments  with 
the  child  he  loved,  yet  whose  home  he  had 
flung  away  for  a  still  more  dominating  flame 
— the  love  of  a  fiery,  soul-destroying  liquor. 
Finally  the  man's  appearance  became  so 
utterly  wretched  and  repulsive  that  the  meet- 
ings were  discontinued. 

**  I   remember  very   well   the  last  visit  I 


190  Saved  to  the  Uttermost 

made  to  Mount  Vernon,"  he  said  to  me  one 
day.  "  I  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  corner 
of  Fourth  Avenue  and  First  Street,  before 
boarding  a  car  for  New  York.  I  was  all 
trembling  and  palsied  with  recent  excesses — 
shivering  like  an  aspen  leaf.  My  little  girl, 
whose  home  I  had  wrecked,  stood  with  me, 
tears  running  down  her  cheeks  like  pearls. 
*  Papa,'  she  said  to  me,  *  every  night  I  kneel 
down  at  my  little  bed,  and  ask  the  dear  Lord 
to  send  my  papa  home  again.'  Yet  much  as 
I  loved  this  litde  child — as  God  knows  I  did — 
I  sank  lower  and  lower.  All  my  friends  had 
now  left  me.  I  was  unable  to  pay  room  rent 
any  more  ;  my  clothes  w^nt  to  the  pawn-shop, 
and  I  finally  drifted  down  to  the  Bowery  and 
my  home  was  just  any  place  where  I  could 
hang  up  my  hat.  Walking  the  streets  night 
after  night,  or,  when  I  had  a  nickel  to  buy  a 
glass  of  rum,  spending  the  hours  between 
darkness  and  dawn  in  the  back  room  of  a 
saloon  ;  with  scarcely  anything  to  eat  for 
days  at  a  stretch,  my  life  became  a  perfect 
hell.  On  the  afternoon  of  Thursday,  March 
30,    191 1,  I  sat  half  sober,  half  drunk,  in  the 


EXTEEIOE   VIEW  OF   THE   OLD   BUILDING, 

McAuley  Mission,  316  Water  Street,  New  York  City. 


Saved  to  the  Uttermost  191 

dirty  back  room  of  a  Bowery  saloon.  With 
greater  force  than  at  any  time  previously  I 
realized,  that  afternoon,  that  with  not  a  cent 
to  live  on,  with  not  a  friend  in  the  world,  nor 
a  place  to  sleep,  I  was  nothing  but  a  homeless, 
hopeless,  drunken  loafer.  I  came  to  the  con- 
clusion, too,  that  life  was  no  longer  worth 
living  and  that  the  sooner  I  got  out  of  it  the 
better  for  everybody  concerned.  With  the 
intention  of  flinging  myself  into  the  river,  I 
left  the  Bowery  saloon  and  walked  down 
through  Roosevelt  Street  towards  the  East 
River.  On  the  corner  of  Water  Street  my 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  group  of  men 
standing  together.  One  of  them,  seeing  my 
wretched  condition,  asked  me  if  I  did  not 
want  to  go  into  the  Jerry  McAuley  Mission 
(which  was  only  a  very  short  distance  away) 
and  warm  myself  up.  It  was  a  bitter  night, 
and  I  was  suffering  terribly  from  the  cold.  I 
had  no  underwear,  and  my  clothes  and  shoes 
were  all  used  up.  So  I  accepted  the  invitation 
and  staggered  into  the  Mission,  and  I  shall 
never  forget  the  impression  that  bright,  cheery 
room  made  upon  me,  coming  as  I  did  from 


192  Saved  to  the  Uttermost 

the  filthy  Bowery  saloon.  I  came  at  once 
into  contact  with  men,  who  stretched  a  hand 
of  welcome  out  to  me,  who  called  me  friend 
and  brother — me,  an  outcast,  one  whom 
everybody  who  knew  him  would  rather  see 
go  than  come.  I  told  them  my  story  and 
they  told  me  that  sin  was  in  my  life  which 
had  brought  me  down  to  the  gutter.  I  sat 
and  listened,  too,  to  a  wonderful  series 
of  testimonies,  given  by  redeemed  men — 
stories  which  were  more  wonderful  than  any- 
thing I  had  ever  heard.  Then  the  superin- 
tendent, who  led  the  meeting,  invited  any 
who  wanted  to  get  away  from  their  sinful, 
wretched  existence,  who  wanted  to  lead  a 
Christian  life,  to  come  forward  and  kneel 
down.  I  did  as  Mr.  Wyburn  invited  me  to 
do — went  forward  and  knelt  down  at  a  bench 
and  cried  unto  Christ  to  save  me  and  to  take 
that  terrible  appetite  for  liquor  out  of  my  life. 
"  I  rose  from  my  knees  a  changed  man. 
I  cannot  explain  the  change.  Yet  I  knew  it 
had  been  effected.  I  felt  as  I  had  not  done 
for  years — brighter,  happier,  possessed  of  a 
great  peace." 


Saved  to  the  Uttermost  193 

This  is  the  story  of  how  Reinhold  Schultz 
found  pardon  through  Jesus  Christ  in  the 
Water  Street  Mission.  Showers  of  blessings 
have  come  his  way  since  the  night  he  knelt 
in  penitence  and  prayer.  He  is  no  longer  a 
forlorn,  wandering  outcast.  He  is  a  redeemed 
man — clothed  and  in  his  right  mind.  He 
has  a  position  of  trust  to-day.  He  has  his 
wife  and  litde  girl  back  living  with  him  ; 
his  home  is  the  abode  of  love  and  harmony. 
No  more  wonderful  instance  of  saving  grace 
is  to  be  found  in  all  this  broad  continent  than 
this  one-time  drunken  outcast.  His  whole 
life — the  way  he  lives  it,  I  mean — is  a  mag- 
nificent proof  of  the  efficacy  of  the  salvation 
of  Jesus  Christ — a  salvation  that  can  save  to 
the  uttermost  all  who  come  to  God  through 
Him. 


XV 

PILGRIMS  OF  THE  NIGHT 

"  In  the  twilight,  in  the  evening,  in  the  black  and  dark 
night." — Prov.  vii.  9. 

ONE  of  the  most  remarkable  phases  of 
the  work  in  Water  Street  is  what 
may  fittingly  be  called  its  unofficial 
ministry.  By  that  I  mean  the  personal  work 
which  individual  converts  feel  constrained  to 
do,  apart  altogether  from  the  regular  activities 
of  the  Mission.  Every  man  whose  life-story 
and  testimony  finds  place  in  this  book  is  en- 
gaged in  it,  as  are  half  a  hundred  more.  They 
call  it  **  getting  out  to  help  the  other  fellow." 
Remembering  the  lost,  helpless  condition  that 
once  was  theirs ;  knowing  from  bitter  ex- 
perience the  sordid  wretchedness  of  it  all  and 
how  welcome  a  little  material  help  is  in  times 
of  stress  and  storm,  these  men  go  out — some- 
times until  two  and  three  in  the  morning — en- 
deavouring as  far  as  their  limited  resources 
194 


Pilgrims  of  the  Night  195 

allow  to  relieve  the  needs  and  suffering  of  the 
pilgrims  of  the  night. 

In  an  endeavour  to  acquaint  myself  with 
some  of  the  contributing  causes  of  so  much 
failure  I  have  often  accompanied  these  good 
men  on  their  errand  of  mercy,  and 
chatted  with  hundreds  of  park-benchers. 
Some  talk  readily  enough,  others  are  sullen 
and  taciturn.  One  thing,  however,  I  have 
found  to  be  absolutely  necessary  in  interview- 
ing an  average  "  down-and-outer,"  namely,  to 
prevent  his  imbibing  the  notion  that  you  are 
amenable  either  to  the  blandishments  of  a 
highly  sensational  story,  or  a  prospective 
source  of  revenue.  Once  let  him  suspect  that 
your  charitable  intentions  may  be  enlarged  by 
the  recital  of  a  weird,  wonderful  tale,  and  you 
may  bid  good-bye  to  the  likelihood  of  obtain- 
ing anything  of  an  authentic  character.  For 
he  will  straightway  proceed  to  pitch  a  hair- 
raising  yarn  made  up  of  a  hundred  tragic 
happenings  which  have  come  to  his  notice  in 
the  course  of  a  vagabond,  knock-about  life, 
but  with  little  or  nothing  pertaining  to  him- 
self in  the  whole  sordid  recital.     But  with  no 


196  Pilgrims  of  the  Night 

discernible  advantage  attendant  on  his  pull- 
ing the  long  bow,  he  will,  in  all  probability, 
content  himself  with  telling  his  real  life-story. 
I  have  listened  to  many  such  stories — sordid, 
tragic,  pitiful ;  differing  in  detail,  fundamen- 
tally the  same — a  dreary  dirge  of  divers  tones. 
And  I  have  ventured  to  bring  together  in  this 
final  chapter  some  of  the  fruit  of  my  inquiries, 
and  also  to  relate  some  authentic  incidents 
that  came  to  my  notice  while  prosecuting 
them.  They  are  illustrative  of  the  lives  of 
New  York's  "  down-and-outs," — men  who  do 
not  drink  to  any  extent,  nor  thieve,  nor,  in 
fact,  do  anything  but  drift,  the  flotsam  and 
jetsam  of  life's  tideway. 

As  far  as  my  experience  goes,  the  men  who 
find  themselves  wrecks  of  fair  promise  on  the 
slope  of  the  years  are  there  from  one  or 
more  of  the  following  causes — perverse  en- 
vironment, simple  error,  unavoidable  disaster, 
the  machinations  of  an  enemy,  press  of  circum- 
stances, lack  of  opportunity,  criminal  mis- 
deeds, unbridled  appetite.  Some  have  ac- 
cepted the  r61e  of  failure  at  the  mere  say-so 
of  an  employer  whose  own  credit  was  knocked 


Pilgrims  of  the  Night  197 

to  jam-rags  within  the  year.  But  whatever 
of  tragedy  marks  the  contributing  cause  of 
failure,  nothing  is  half  so  tragical  as  the  ap- 
parent sheer  inability  of  so  many  poor  fellows 
to  **  come  back." 

With  some,  the  barrier  preventing  a  return 
to  better  things  is  the  bar  of  social  relation- 
ship, the  mistrust  of  their  former  contempo- 
raries, or  the  edict  of  conventional  pronounce- 
ment. With  the  majority,  however,  the  real 
trouble  is  that,  battered  and  discouraged,  the 
man  himself  has  lost  heart  and  grip,  and 
simply  cannot  come  back.  Just  that.  Heart- 
ache, regret,  mortification,  shame,  bitterness 
— any  or  all  of  these  have  undermined  his 
power  of  mental  and  physical  resistance. 
When  on  rare  occasions  he  has  made  it,  his 
eflort  at  rehabilitation  has  been  weak,  listless, 
never  more  than  half-hearted.  With  pride, 
self-respect  and  ambition  gone  he  has  been 
content  to  drift,  and  when  a  man  on  the  down- 
grade gives  up  the  fight  and  just  drifts,  he  is 
next  door  to  done  for.  He  is  down  to  stay — 
not  only  down  but  out.  Of  course,  in  stat- 
ing anything  of  this  sort  one  is  prepared  to 


1 98  Pilgrims  of  the  Night 

meet  with  the  criticism  that  it  relates  to  the 
"  residuum  " — that  something  of  the  kind  is 
unavoidable — inevitable — in  a  city  like  New- 
York.  Well,  possibly  it  is — possibly  not. 
But  what  all  Christian  men  and  women  re- 
quire, should  be  pressed  continually  upon 
their  attention,  is  the  fact  that  this  residuum  is 
all  the  time  being  fed  from  above.  Every 
day  some  man  or  woman — boy  or  girl — slips 
through  into  the  awful  labyrinths  of  the  giant 
city's  underworld. 

It  was  a  bitter  night  in  February,  and  City 
Hall  Park  was  deserted  except  by  one  lone 
man.  By  the  light  of  a  near-by  arc-lamp  I 
could  make  him  out  distinctly.  He  was  not 
old — not  a  day  more  than  fifty.  His  old 
derby,  greasy  and  with  broken  brim,  was 
pulled  down  low  on  to  his  forehead.  The 
nape  of  his  skinny  neck  rested  on  the  back 
of  the  seat ;  his  face,  yellow  and  livid,  turned 
up  towards  the  stars.  His  eyes  were  closed, 
and  his  mouth,  wide  agape,  showed  three  or 
four  ugly  gaps  where  the  teeth  were  missing. 
His  trousers,  patched  and  mud-stained,  were 


Pilgrims  of  the  Night  199 

worn  to  shreds  at  the  ankles.  As  he  sat 
cross-legged  they  had  drawn  away  from  the 
tops  of  his  broken  shoes  to  reveal  two  stock- 
ingless  shins.  The  old  Prince  Albert  coat  he 
wore  had  the  collar  turned  up  and  fastened 
at  the  neck  with  a  huge  safety-pin.  He  had 
light  brown,  shaggy  moustaches  and  a  thin 
beard,  through  which  the  apple  of  his  throat 
stuck  out  sharply. 

I  walked  on  a  few  yards,  then  turned  back. 
The  man  had  not  moved.  Suddenly  the 
thought  flashed  through  me  that  possibly  he 
might  be  dead.  Starved  out  creatures  were 
being  found  lifeless  in  the  parks  right  along. 
The  eyes  were  still  closely  shut — the  mouth 
still  open.  There  was  no  discernible  motion 
of  breathing — no  heaving  of  the  narrow  chest. 
I  sat  down  on  the  bench  near  him  and 
coughed  slightly,  but  he  did  not  stir.  I  laid 
my  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  said,  "  Hello 
there,  brother ! " 

The  man  unclosed  one  eye  and  looked  at 
me  without  moving  his  neck  from  the  rail  of 
the  seat.  The  yellow,  starved  face  with  the 
gap-toothed  mouth  and  one  eye  shut  looked 


200  Pilgrims  of  the  Night 

now  more  dead  than  it  did  a  moment  before 
with  both  eyes  closed. 

**  Cold  night,  isn't  it?"  I  continued. 

*'  Who  said  it  wasn't  ?  "  snarled  my  com- 
panion. "  Don't  yer  think  I  know  about  it, 
setting  out  here  ?  " 

The  gaping  mouth  closed  at  last.  Still 
one  eye  remained  with  the  lid  glued  to  the 
cheek. 

**What  did  yer  go  to  wake  me  for?"  he 
began  again.  "  It's  hard  enough  to  get 
snoozed  ofi  in  this  weather,  without  bein' 
woke  up  for  nothing.     What  d'ye  want?  " 

**  Why,  I  thought  I  might  help  you  some- 
how," I  answered.     "  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

**  Paralyzed,"  the  man  answered  laconically, 
touching  his  left  eye  and  running  his  right 
arm  down  his  left  side. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  " 

**  Yes,  if  you've  got  the  sense  to  do  it. 
Look  it  here,  half  of  me's  dead.  The  job  for 
you  to  do  is  to  clear  out  and  let  the  other 
half  die  in  peace." 

He  rose  painfully  and  slowly  from  the 
bench. 


Pilgrims  of  the  Night  201 

"  What  did  yer  go  to  wake  me  up  for  ?  "  he 
said  again.  **  I  didn't  interfere  with  you  ;  why 
should  you  interfere  with  me?" 

"I  have  some  food  and  shelter  tickets 
here,"  I  said,  laying  my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"  Would  you  care  to  have  one  ?  " 

The  wretched  cripple  eyed  me  suspiciously 
for  a  second  or  two. 

*'  What  have  I  to  do  to  get  it  ?  "  he  said. 
*'  Yer  gen' ally  have  ter  go  to  a  mission  and 
pretend  to  be  saved  to  git  one  o'  them.  If 
that's  yer  game,  I  don't  want  it." 

**  There  is  only  one  condition  attached  to 
this,  my  brother,"  I  made  reply—**  which  is, 
that  you  make  use  of  it." 

'*  Oh,  I'll  do  that,  and  be  glad  to." 

He  held  out  a  grimy  hand,  which  looked 
like  the  claw  of  some  unclean  bird.  I  gave 
him  the  ticket  which  he  took  sullenly — with- 
out a  word  of  thanks.  Then  with  his  hand 
thrust  into  the  breast  of  his  greasy  coat,  he 
moved  slowly  away  in  the  direction  of  Park 
Row,  dragging  his  paralyzed  leg  after  him 
as  he  went.  Surely  his  was  a  living  death — a 
long-drawn-out  torture. 


202  Pilgrims  of  the  Night 

As  he  passed  the  end  of  Frankfurt  Street  a 
gust  of  night  wind  swept  up  from  the  Hud- 
son almost  knocking  him  off  his  feet.  He 
halted  a  moment,  then  bracing  himself  afresh, 
slouched  miserably  on. 

*  *  *  :K  *  * 

One  sultry  night  in  last  July,  I  sat  on  a 
bench  in  Madison  Square.  The  heat  was 
stifling — not  a  capful  of  wind  anywhere.  I 
glanced  at  the  man  sitting  next  to  me.  He 
was  a  long,  loosely-built  lump  of  a  fellow, 
apparently  about  twenty  years  of  age,  fair- 
haired  and  (as  it  turned  out)  a  Scandi- 
navian. 

"  Been  blazing  hot  to-day,"  I  said,  by  way 
of  engaging  him  in  conversation. 

"Ya,  someting  fierce,"  he  replied — he 
spoke  but  very  indifferent  English — "hot  to- 
night too.  It's  been  hotter,  though,  this 
summer.  Ya,  I  know.  I've  slep'  out  tree 
weeks." 

**  Three  weeks  ?    Out  here  on  the  benches  ? " 

"  Ya." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  don't  suppose  that  has 
hurt  you  much,  after  all.     As  a  matter  of  fact, 


Pilgrims  of  the  Night  203 

you're  heaps  better  off  out  here  this  weather, 
than  breathing  in  the  rotten  atmosphere  of 
some  overcrowded  lodging-house.  But  how 
about  eats  ?  " 

"Eats?" 

"Yes — food.  .  .  .  When  did  you  eat 
last?" 

"Yesterday  morning.  .  .  .  None  to- 
day." 

"That's  too  bad.  Well,  there's  a  lunch- 
room over  there," — we  sat  opposite  Twenty- 
third    Street — "perhaps  we    can   attend  to 

that  trouble.     But  you Surely  there's 

no  occasion  for  a  great,  big  fellow  like  you 
to  be  sleeping  out,  and  going  without  food 
two  and  three  days  at  a  stretch.  It's  almost 
a  dead  certainty  that  you  could  get  work  of 
some  sort — if  you  really  meant  business." 

"  Not  with  this."  He  held  out  his  right 
arm.  I  gave  a  jump.  His  hand  was  miss- 
ing— severed  at  the  wrist !  I  looked  at  the 
poor  fellow's  mutilated  member,  and  saw  by 
its  red,  raw  ugliness,  that  the  injury  was  of  re- 
cent date.  My  conscience  smote  me  for  hav- 
ing rallied  him  on  his  supposed  shiftlessness. 


204  Pilgrims  of  the  Night 

"Forgive  me,"  I  blurted  out.  "No — you 
can't  do  much  with  that.  How  did  it  hap- 
pen— and  where  ?    Tell  me  about  it." 

"  I  got  it  all  mangled  up  in  a  paper-cutting 
machine,"  he  replied,  "about  eight  months 
ago."  He  gave  me  the  name  of  the  firm  for 
whom  he  had  worked. 

"  Have  they  given  you  any  compensation 
— any  money,  I  mean — to  cover  this  fearful 
disablement?" 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"  While  I  was  in  the  hospital  a  man  came 
to  see  me,  and  offered  me  one  hundred  dol- 
lars. The  nurses  and  the  doctors  told  me 
not  to  take  it." 

"Very  properly,  too.  A  hundred  dollars 
for  a  man's  hand !  The  pilfering  thieves  1 
But  since — what  has  there  been  done  since  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  The  people  I  worked  for  have 
gone — what  you  call  it ?" 

"Bankrupt?" 

"Ya — that's  it.  Busted  up — gone  out  o* 
business." 

Gone  out  of  business  I  The  Lord  help 
him ! 


Pilgrims  of  the  Night  205 

"Well,"  I  said  lamely,  "I  guess  there  is 
somebody  can  be  held  liable  yet — whom  I 
don't  know.  But  come  along,  let  us  go  over 
to  the  lunch-room." 

After  I  had  gotten  him  "going"  at  the 
lunch-counter,  I  asked  him  whether  he  had 
any  friends  in  New  York.    He  shook  his  head. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  came  here  from 
Europe  ?  " 

"  Two  years.  I  came  to  this  country  with 
two  others,  but  I  don't  know  where  they  are 
now.     They  went  to  Pittsburg  a  year  ago." 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  Legal  Aid 
Society  ?  "  I  asked  him.  No,  he  had  never 
heard  of  it.  "  Well,  it  exists  to  assist  such 
cases  as  yours."  I  wrote  the  address  of  the 
society  on  a  card,  and  handed  it  to  him. 
"  Go  down-town  in  the  morning,  and  state 
your  case  to  these  people.  In  all  probability 
they  may  be  able  to  help  you.  I  wish  I 
could — but  I  can't.  I'm  only  a  poor  man, 
with  next  to  no  influence.  And  take  this 
other  card.  On  it  are  two  addresses.  One 
is  a  Bowery  lodging-house — the  other  a  res- 
taurant.    I  will  arrange  for  you  to  have  grub 


2o6  Pilgrims  of  the  Night 

and  a  bed  for  a  week.    That  is  all  I  can  da 
Good-night." 

As  I  bade  him  good-bye  the  poor  fellow 
tried  to  kiss  my  hand.  I  snatched  it  away 
from  him.  "  Don't  do  a  silly  thing  like  that," 
I  said.  **  God  help  you — and  God  bless  you. 
I  wish  I  could  do  more."  With  that  I  left 
him  to  finish  his  meal.  Maimed  for  life, 
without  money  or  friends,  scarcely  able  to 
make  himself  understood,  there  he  was, — just 
a  unit  of  that  welter  of  misery  and  misfortune 
which  goes  to  the  make-up  of  New  York's 
underworld. 

The  usual  complement  of  outcast  humanity 
occupied  the  park  benches  as  I  came  through 
Union  Square  early  one  morning  in  Septem- 
ber. I  singled  out  a  man  who  sat  gazing 
moodily  across  the  square,  and  proceeded  to 
draw  him  into  conversation. 

**Out  of  work,  mister?"  I  began  clumsily. 

"Think  I'd  be  out  here  if  I  wasn't?  I've 
not  done  a  stroke  for  six  months,"  he  growled. 

Afterwards  he  grew  more  communicative. 
He  was  a  housesmith  by  trade,  he  told  me, 


Pilgrims  of  the  Night  207 

and  for  more  than  a  year  had  been  told  con- 
tinually that  he  was  "  too  old."  His  age  was 
fifty.  In  the  gloom  of  the  night  I  had  guessed 
him  to  be  but  little  more  than  forty. 

"While  there's  life  there's  hope,"  I  said, 
for  lack  of  something  better  to  say,  at  the 
same  time  feeling  I  was  talking  the  most  ar- 
rant nonsense. 

•*  While  there's  life  there's'  hunger,  so  far 
as  my  luck  goes,"  retorted  the  old  iron- worker 
grimly. 

**  But  you  haven't  given  up  the  idea  of 
being  able  to  work  again  some  day,  have 
you?" 

"There  ain't  much  chance.  Trade's  fair 
rotten.  Bosses  don't  want  anybody  just 
now,  and  when  they're  busy  they  tell  me  I'm 
too  old,  and  that's  pretty  well  true,  I  guess. 
I  can't  go  up  to  any  great  height  any  more. 
I've  always  had  a  good  character,  but  what 
difference  does  that  make  ?  I  stand  a  worse 
chance  of  getting  a  living  than  the  loafers 
who  never  did  a  square  day's  work  in  their 
lives.  They're  used  to  a  game  o'  this  sort 
I'm  not." 


2o8  Pilgrims  of  the  Night 

"  Is  your  health  pretty  good  ?  '* 

"  Not  very — chest  trouble.  To  tell  the 
truth  I  haven't  been  much  good  since  my  old 
woman  died.  That'll  be  three  years  come 
next  Christmas  Day." 

"You  mean  your  wife,  I  suppose?  Sort 
of  took  the  backbone  out  of  you  ?  " 

He  nodded.  *'  It  sure  did,"  he  answered. 
Then  his  voice  broke. 

"  Tve  gone  all  to  pieces  since  then.  Poor 
old  girl  I     We've  weathered  many  a  storm 

together What's  the  time,  boss?"  he 

concluded,  abruptly  changing  the  subject. 

**  Twenty  minutes  to  three." 

The  old  housesmith  got  up  from  his  seat 
and  commenced  to  move  away.  I  detained 
him  for  a  second,  and  he  thanked  me  quietly. 

"  Nights  are  not  half  bad  in  the  summer. 
I  can  stand  'em  all  right  so  long  as  it  don't 
rain,"  he  said.  "  It's  the  winter  nights  that 
settle  me.  Well,  good-morning.  It'll  be 
sunup  soon." 

He  trudged  off  in  the  direction  of  Four- 
teenth Street — a  brave  old  fellow  who  de- 
served a  better  fate  than  that  which  had 


Pilgrims  of  the  Night  209 

come  to  him.     Yet  his  was  a  common  heri- 
tage— the  penalty  of  growing  old 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

I  walked  over  to  the  Broadway  side  of  the 
park  and  sat  down  next  to  a  man  even  more 
shabbily  dressed  than  the  one  from  whom  I 
had  just  parted.  He  was  far  more  willing 
to  talk  than  the  other,  and  I  found  out  that 
he  had  followed  a  number  of  occupations. 
Some  of  the  positions  he  claimed  to  have 
had  were  of  a  quite  responsible  kind. 

"  Sort  of  Jack-of-all-trades,"  I  suggested. 

The  man  looked  up.  Despite  a  certain 
weakness,  his  face  had  a  well-chiselled  pro- 
file and  a  pair  of  quizzical  eyes. 

"  You  may  complete  that  old  saw  without 
fear  of  offense,  my  friend,'*  he  said  with  a 
grin.  "For,  judging  from  appearances" — 
he  spread  out  his  hands  deprecatingly — "  Fm 
master  of  none." 

"  Well,  what  seems  to  be  the  trouble  ? 
You're  clever,  aren't  you  ?  " 

'*  Fairly — but  not  sufficiently  so.  I  should 
have  done  better  with  either  more  cleverness 
less.     Thafs  the  trouble.     I'm  all  right 


2 1  o  Pilgrims  of  the  Night 

for  ideas — quite  a  philosopher,  in  fact — but  I 
can't  carry  them  out.  I  hate  detail,  I'm  not 
cut  out  for  manual  labour,  and  I'm  more  than 
a  trifle  lazy.  Now  you  have  the  whole  story. 
Awkward  facts,  I  grant  you ;  but  facts,  never- 
theless." 

"  What  are  you  doing  out  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  at  the  moment  when  you  did  me 
the  honour  of  joining  me  on  this  seat,  I  was 
watching  those  two  fellows  on  that  one  oppo- 
site." 

"Why?" 

*'  Well,  they  appear  to  be  going  to  beat  it. 
That  would  leave  sufficient  room  for  me  to 
stretch  out  if  I  can  get  across  before  some  of 
my  fellow  boarders  do." 

"  Can  you  sleep  out  here  in  the  open  ?  " 

"Surest  thing  you  know.  All  I  want  is 
carte  blanche  with  that  seat.  It's  this  infernal 
sitting  that  wearies  me." 

"  But  sleeping  out — you  can't  expect — that 
is — your  condition "  I  blundered  out. 

"  Quite  so.  Pray  don't  spare  me ! "  he 
broke  in  understandingly.  "  No  better  worth 
you   would  say,   eh?    Guess  you're   about 


Pilgrims  of  the  Night  21 1 

right.  Anyhow,  it's  all  my  own  fault — that  I 
admit.  I  might  have  been  in  one  of  those 
swell  hotels  to-night,"  he  went  on,  jerking 
his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  Broadway,  **  had 
I  but  played  my  cards  better.  But  there — 
what's  the  good  of  grumbling,  anyway?" 

"Not  much,  is  it?  Do  you  always  get 
along  in  this  fashion  ?  " 

**  Generally.  I  vary  the  program  now  and 
again  by  going  to  the  Municipal  Lodging 
House.  There  I  get  my  clothes  fumigated, 
indulge  in  the  luxury  of  a  bath,  get  a  feed 
and  a  good  sleep." 

"And  then?" 

"Then?    Why,  this." 

"And  when  this  is  over?"  He  looked  at 
me  curiously.  "The  long  sleep?"  I  sug- 
gested. 

He  nodded.  "  Guess  you're  right,  my 
friend.  Got  a  cigarette?"  he  inquired  care- 
lessly. 

"  No.  Here's  ten  cents  ;  you  can  get  one 
later — or  better  still,  some  cake  and  coffee." 

"  Thanks.  I  prefer  the  weed.  I'll  stroll  as 
far  as  the  lunch-cart  yonder  and  buy  some," 


2 1 2  Pilgrims  of  the  Night 

he  yawned,  rising  from  his  seat  and  stretch- 
ing himself.  "  You're  my  Good  Samaritan. 
My  luck's  not  quite  died  out  yet,  apparently. 
Good-morning." 

"Good-morning." 

He  sauntered  off  towards  the  lunch-wagon 
that  stands  opposite  the  Metropolitan  Tower, 
whistling  sofdy  as  he  went — a  philosopher  of 
the  park  bench — a  cynic  in  rags. 

****** 

Outcasts  of  the  city  I  Who  and  what  can 
work  out  their  deliverance?  Well,  if  this 
book  has  not  failed  utterly  of  its  purpose,  it 
has  demonstrated  that  there  is  but  one  way, 
there  is  but  one  Name,  whereby  such  help- 
lessness and  apparent  uselessness  can  be 
redeemed  and  reclaimed.  "  He  can  save  to 
the  uttermost  all  who  come  to  God  through 
Him." 

"There  is  no  ruined  life  beyond  the  light  of  heaven, 
And  compensating  grace  for  every  loss  is  given ; 
The  Coliseum's  shell  is  loved  of  flower  and  vine, 
And  through  its  shattered  rents,  the  peaceful  planets 
shine." 


2 


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